


Of Pies and Men

by prettyboyangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyangel/pseuds/prettyboyangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a cook at the family restaurant in his hometown, where nothing ever changes. This is the story of what happens when a stranger moves to town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peach and Ginger - Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gidgetwexler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gidgetwexler/gifts).



> This is an AU I've been working on for a while now, and I've finally decided to post it! It's a WIP but I have about 21k written so far.
> 
> The diner is a real place and yes they do have incredible pie. 
> 
> I own nothing.

     Nothing much ever changed in the small, sleepy town. Which, he argued to his sons as they fought their ways through their respective teenage years, was exactly why he had decided to set up shop there so many years ago, back when he and Mary were newlyweds, the world an open book of possibilities, and all they wanted to do was set down roots and make a home for themselves. Now John found himself wishing they had taken more time to explore together, allowed more of the world to be touched by Mary’s spirit while they still could. But his memories of sundrenched Sunday mornings and Mary’s laughter echoing through the halls were contained to this house, this town, not spread across cities with names he couldn’t pronounce in countries he could remove himself from. She was everywhere here, while also being nowhere, and he still hadn’t decided whether that was a blessing or a curse.

     These were the thoughts that occupied John’s mind as he pulled his old pickup into his usual spot behind the restaurant and trudged up to the back door as the sunrise tinted the sky pink behind him. Dean’s Impala was parked in its usual spot, exactly where it had been when John had left the night before. Dean had been manning the kitchen all night recently, taking on much longer shifts than he used to; he’d started doing that more often lately, noticing how John would start to lag after five or six hours. John tried to blame it on his age, but they both knew it was more than just years passing. As time went on, John didn’t feel the grief of losing Mary lessen its chokehold on him. He still saw her ghost everywhere, the love of his life taken far before her time, leaving him and the boys with little but memories, a box full of recipes, and the constant ache of someone missing.

     As he let himself in through the back door, John let the aroma of pies baking in the oven trick him into believing that he would see Mary standing at the counter when he walked into the kitchen. He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, the tart, slightly gingery scent wafting over his senses. He smiled at the familiarity of it; Mary always used to make her peach ginger pie in the last week of the summer. Jo had learned well.

     John sighed and pushed open the worn wooden door between the back entryway and the kitchen. Jo’s long blonde hair and lithe frame had long since stopped making John’s breath catch in his throat, thinking it was Mary at the long kitchen counter instead.

     “Morning,” he rumbled, giving Jo a small smile when she whipped around, flour on her cheek.

     “John!” she exclaimed, striding across the kitchen to give him a hug, “we weren’t expecting you for another few hours. Dean said you’d be in around second breakfast.”

     Winchester’s, being the only place in town open 24 hours a day, had a unique schedule of regular clientele. Jo started referring to each rush of customers with a name when she had first started, and several years later those names had stuck. Between 4:30am and 6am came the early birds, the fishermen, construction workers, and truckers getting an early start on the day’s work. After them came second breakfast, from 8-10, the mothers coming in for a cup of coffee after dropping their kids at school, businessmen too busy to make their own breakfast but with enough time to wait for Dean to cook it for them. Then first lunch, second lunch, the post-school snack run, early dinner (mostly the elderly), late dinner (mostly the young professionals), and then, between 1am when the bar closed and 430am when the early birds started arriving, insomniac’s hour, when the town’s more grizzled citizens gathered to drink coffee, praise Jo’s pie, and discuss life’s many hardships. Winchester’s worked on a cycle, like much of the small town; not much ever changed.

     “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to come in early.” He said, reaching around her for a clean mug from the drying rack, “plus I want to catch Bobby before he leaves for the morning run.”

     “He should be out there now, I think he was talking to Dean. Oh, Rufus came by last night,” Jo called to him as he walked through the swinging door behind the counter, almost walking straight into his older son. Dean lounged against the back countertop, his body at ease but his green eyes vigilant as he chatted with the grey-haired man sitting at the counter. From the looks of his apron it had been a quiet night; the white cloth had very few splatters on it, the white towel tucked in the waistband almost as pristine.

     “Mornin’, John,” the grizzled man at the counter greeted him.

     “Bobby,” John nodded, clapping Dean on the shoulder, “hey son.”

     “Hey dad,” Dean smiled, “Sleep okay?”

     “Yeah, slept fine,” John lied, knowing Dean would see right through it but also knowing that he would say nothing to contradict his father. “Jo said Rufus stopped by?”

     “Yeah, said something’s wrong with the wiring so the power’s gonna be out for an hour or two tonight. I told him not to worry about it, it’s been busy enough we can shut down for a few hours. I figure we’ll just throw all the perishables into the freezer downstairs, it’ll stay cool enough it should be fine.” As always, Dean had everything figured out, and he made it look so effortless. John’s pride in his older son was interrupted by Bobby’s snort.

     “One day that old son of a bitch is gonna thank me for all the work I’ve put into this place,” Bobby grumbled, “twenty-three years and I’ve done just about everything but gut the place and rebuild it from the ground up.”

     John laughed and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter. Dean grinned.

     “Yeah, Bobby, you should talk to Rufus about getting a cut of the rent. God knows without you this place would’ve fallen to the ground decades ago.”

     “Nah, Bobby gets paid by good old Uncle Sam,” John chuckled, “he doesn’t need any help from Rufus.”

     Dean laughed, whipping the towel from the waistband of his apron to swipe a spot on the counter. “Hey Bobby can you get us some self-cleaning counters? It’d make my job a hell of a lot easier. And maybe one of those big old industrial sized washing machines they have at the fancy restaurants in the city? You can pull some strings with Uncle Sam, right?”

     “Yeah, yeah, you two keep on going, see if I help the next time your plumbing backs up or the wiring shorts or the oven refuses to turn on. See how long you stay in business without any pies to sell.”

     Dean and John chuckling behind the counter, Bobby finished his cup of coffee in one swallow and stood up to leave. As he put on his cap, John remembered he had wanted to talk to him, but bit back the words in favor of leaving the atmosphere of the day just how it was. Mornings like this made him remember what it felt like to be completely content, and though he knew that was a thing of the past, the momentary flashes he got of it were enough to keep him going.

* * *

     “What do you mean, he isn’t sleeping?” Jo asked, her brow furrowed , hands stilling against the mound of pie dough on the board in front of her. She glanced over her shoulder at Dean, standing slumped against the counter next to her. He scrubbed a hand over his face and shrugged.

     “I can just tell, y’know? He always looks so tired but he refuses to admit anything’s wrong. I do what I can, but...” Dean trailed off. He glanced through the small window in the swinging door leading out to the diner, catching a glimpse of John as he wiped down the counter. He could read exhaustion in the slump of his father’s shoulders, grief in the hang of his head, just as Jo could read the hopelessness in the sagging of Dean’s entire body. After a quiet moment, Dean shook himself and shot her a smile. “I should go grab a few hours while I can. Call me when he looks like he’s getting tired again.”

     “Dean, no, you should take the day!” Jo protested, “You’ve been here almost twenty hours. Go get some rest! Go to the batting cages! Do something that’s not here!”

     “N’ah, all the people I like are here, where else would I go?” He teased, turning and striding to the back door, “call me when you need me back!”

     Jo sighed and turned back to her dough. As the door clicked shut behind Dean, she kneaded her hands deep into the soft dough and turned her thoughts to Mary, as she tended to do while making her pies. Mary had taught her everything she knew about baking pies, taking Jo under her wing as the daughter she never had. Ellen used to joke that even though Jo didn’t know her dad, she had two moms, and that might be even better.

The low purr of the Impala’s engine rumbled in with the morning breeze through the open window. Jo waved as Dean drove away and the phone began ringing, that time of day reached where everything starts to happen at once. Wiping her hands on her apron, she walked to grab the phone from its cradle on the wall.

    “Winchester’s, this is Jo speaking, what can I do for ya?”

     “Is Dean still there?” Her mom’s voice was sharp, but Jo knew that was out of concern more than anything. Ellen had noticed how hard Dean was working, and not just because she did payroll every week. They’d all noticed.

     “No he left a few minutes ago,” Jo replied, turning the majority of her attention back to dividing up the pie dough, “are you coming in today?”

     “I’m on my way right now,” Ellen said, “there’s coffee on, right?”

     “When isn’t there?” Jo smiled.

     “I’ll be there in 2.”

     Jo turned to hang up the phone just as Sam walked in the back door. Though he was a few years younger than his brother, he had already surpassed Dean in height. Sam cut an impressive figure against the morning sun pouring in through the window panes, but Jo just shot him a smile and turned away. She’d known Sam almost her entire life, but still didn’t want to be caught staring.

     “Morning!” they called at the same time, turning to grin at each other as though this was the first time it had happened.

     “What kinda pie we got today?” Sam inquired as he tied an apron around his waist. Jo smiled to herself as she thought of how differently Dean and Sam wore their aprons; Dean’s slung low around his hips, Sam’s tied securely right under his shirt. But they both tied them the same way, a double knot with a bow, just like Mary used to tie them when they were little.

     “Peach and ginger,” Jo smiled up at him, “it’s the last week of summer.”

     Mary had always saved this one for the very last week of summer, right before all the kids went back to school and the weather started getting cooler. The first time she had baked it for John, before they were married, he had said it smelled like sunshine, golden, warm and sweet and slightly spicy around the edges. When she taught Jo how to bake it, Mary had made her promise to only make it that one week, the last week of summer, when the sunshine still flowed in through the windows like honey and everyone needed one last taste of it before the weather got cold again. They always sold at least twice as many of them as they did any other pie that week.

     Sam smiled and nodded, though Jo could see the sadness in his eyes. But before she could say anything, the back door swung open and her mother swept in, already talking.

     “Ok I need a cup of coffee and then I need someone to explain to me how we managed to let Dean work four 18-hour days in a row last week.”

     Sam was already halfway to the coffeepot by the time the door clicked shut, Ellen’s first cup of the morning in his hands. He clapped his father on the shoulder as he strode past him behind the counter, filled the cup, and was back in the kitchen before Ellen had finished her sentence.

     “Sammy you’re a godsend.” Ellen murmured, then took a long gulp of coffee. She swallowed and then looked at Jo and Sam in turn, “so who’s explaining to me how Dean managed to work that much last week without anyone noticing?”

     John pushed open the door to the kitchen, balancing a pile of dirty dishes on one arm.

     “Heya Ellen, I thought you might be here. Only one person sends Sammy running for the coffeepot fast.”

     Ellen looked John up and down before saying quietly, “John you look awful.”

     John glanced at Jo and Sam before turning back to Ellen, “I’m fine, Ellen, don’t worry about me. What’s this about Dean? How much did he work last week?”

     Ellen took a deep breath and rubbed her temples. “Four 18-hour days, John. In a row. We’ve all gotta keep a closer eye on him. He’s gonna work himself to death if we’re not careful.”

     The kitchen was silent for a moment before the aroma of the morning’s second batch of pies started wafting from the oven. Ellen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Mmm...peach and ginger. Is it the last week of summer already?”

     Jo nodded, a sad smile on her face. They all knew everyone was thinking about Mary. It was rare that they weren’t.

     “Well who knows. Maybe this year the cold will bring something good with it.” Ellen sighed. The four stood in silence for a moment before the bell over the door interrupted their thoughts. The diner wasn’t going to run itself, after all.

* * *

     After a few hours of sleep, Dean found himself staring at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, unable to fall back to sleep. The glow-in-the-dark stars he had stuck to the ceiling during the winter he turned 7 still glowed at night, though he couldn’t remember the last night he had been home to see them. During the day they were just a pale green, slightly visible against the white of the ceiling. He rolled his eyes at how ridiculous it was to be a 27-year-old sleeping in a room with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, though, he hated to admit to himself, it wasn’t like he ever brought anyone home who would see them. And it’s not like anyone would really understand why he moved back home to begin with.

     After his mom died, he had moved back home to help his dad out, make sure he wasn’t too lonely with Mary gone and Sammy off at college an hour away. Five years later, John had shown no real signs of progress, and Dean had realized he needed his dad as much as he thought his dad needed him. So he stayed. And when Sammy was home from school, the three of them felt as normal as they could.

     Dean made himself lie in bed for another twenty minutes before he started feeling restless. He got up and made his bed the way Mary had taught him when he was a kid, top sheet folded over and blanket tucked into the sides. Grabbing his towel from the hook behind the door, he strode into the bathroom and stripped, jumping under the water before it got hot. After his shower, he dried off and walked naked back to his room, taking advantage of the fact that he was the only one home. As he pulled on boxers and jeans, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and shoulders from the week they had spent at the beach. He sprayed on some deodorant, threw on a t-shirt Jo always said was the same color green as his eyes, and went hunting for socks. He grabbed a pair he may or may not have stolen from Sammy a few months before, pulled them on along with his shoes, grabbed his phone from where it was charging on his bedside table, and went out to his car. Sitting in the Impala a few minutes later, he realized he hadn’t just been teasing Jo; he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. All of his friends were at the diner, all of the people he cared about and all of the things he liked to do. He was good at this job, and it was at the diner he felt Mary’s presence the strongest. The Impala’s engine turned over with a smooth growl, and he drove towards the diner like he did every day. No use fighting what makes you happy.

     Putting the Impala right back in the spot he had vacated mere hours before, Dean glanced around the lot and took mental note of who had arrived since he left. John’s pickup and Jo’s little blue car had been there when he left, but now Ellen’s little red Corolla and Sammy’s old Jeep joined them. Dean smiled as he remembered how Bobby and John had helped him fix the clunker for Sammy’s 18th birthday, ages ago now. He was amazed the thing still ran.

     Dean shoved his keys in his pocket and strode up to the back door, pushing it open and inhaling deeply. He could never get enough of the smell of his mother’s peach and ginger pie, even when he knew it wasn’t Mary making it. The smell alone was enough to make him feel like a piece of her was still around.

     He made it two feet into the kitchen before Ellen caught him.

     “Dean Winchester, if that’s you, you better turn your pretty little ass around and get out of here.” She called from her office off the kitchen, “you worked more hours last week than Jo and Sam combined. Go home. Sleep. Do whatever it is you boys do when you’re not here, I don’t care where you go, but you’re not working today.”

     Dean walked over to her office door and leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets. He thought of all the arguments he could make as to why he should work more hours today; Sammy didn’t cook half as well as he did, his dad was exhausted, Jo deserved a day off, he had nowhere else to go. But, as true as they all were, no reason hit home harder than the last one. He really had nowhere else to go. And why make up a pathetic reason when the most pathetic one was the truest?

     “I tried,” he insisted, “I couldn’t fall back asleep and...and there’s nowhere else I wanna be.”

     Ellen’s stare softened as she saw the faint blush of embarrassment creep up Dean’s neck. She knew how difficult things were, how hard the boys were trying. She nodded, fixing Dean with her best mom stare.

     “Fine, stay then. But don’t you dare work. You go get yourself a cup of coffee and a booth and relax for a bit.”

     Dean shot her his most winning smile and pushed himself off the doorframe. On his way through the kitchen he grabbed a mug and plateful of pie, taking more than an even slice but knowing Jo wouldn’t blame him for it. The pie was really damn good.

     He strode out of the kitchen and swung around the counter, sliding his mug along the length of it to where Sam stood next to the coffeepot. With a glance to his older brother, Sam filled the mug up just shy of full, with just enough room left for the creamer he knew Dean would add in at the table. As he handed the now steaming mug to Dean, Sam couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice.

     “Dude, what are you doing here? Weren’t you here all night?”

     Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Sammy. I caught some shut-eye but Ellen won’t let me back behind the counter until you’ve had a fair shot. So I thought I’d grab some pie and act like a civilian until you get bored.” He picked one of the vinyl-covered booths by the front windows, setting down his coffee and pie before sliding in himself. As Sam went back to chatting with the customers at the counter, Dean poured a creamer into his coffee. When he was a kid, he had loved the creamer for two reasons; one, it had his name on it, and two, he had always loved the way the clouds of creamer looked mixing with the black coffee. He would never let his mom stir her coffee until he had had the chance to watch all the designs the creamer made. Even now, he waited until the liquid settled before stirring in it.

     As he waited for his coffee to cool a bit, he tried to take in as much as he could of the restaurant around him. He usually had so little time to simply sit and observe, constantly working and interacting, that he realized now it had probably been years since he actually acknowledged what the diner looked like. And now that he was taking the time to look at it, he noticed how little it had changed since his childhood.

     The six large windows lining the front wall let in more than enough sunlight to light the whole room during the day, bathing everything in the clear sunlight of late summer. The chrome behind the counter and the glass case holding Jo’s pies gleamed in the natural light, as did the shiny formica countertop along which always sat at least one customer at any given time of day. Four booths along the front and eight tables crowding the floor allowed for many people to sit at once, though during several of the day’s rushes it was not unusual for people to wait for a table. They never minded much. On the walls hung old advertisements for Winchester shotguns and shells, cartoons of cowboys, and cases with replicas of old Winchester rifles. When Dean was a kid, he had wanted to be a cowboy like the ones in the pictures on the walls; twenty years later, he wasn’t quite sure he’d outgrown that yet.

     Dean speared the tip of his pie with his fork, quickly bringing the warm bite to his mouth so none would fall en route. The sweet, slightly spicy filling covered his tongue and memories of Mary flooded his mind. Helping her pick out the last good bunch of peaches at the farmer’s market, tumbling down the stairs in excitement for a slice of peach and ginger pie on the morning of the first day of school, her laughter when Sammy got pie filling all over his face and hands, her holding Dean in her arms and telling him he was her little angel when he tried to clean Sammy up for her. Simple, everyday things he would never have the chance to tell her he remembered.

     Lost in the haze of reminiscing, Dean failed to notice the unfamiliar black car pull up in front of the diner. A nice car, old but well-maintained, it didn’t stand out among the other cars in the lot except for the fact that no one had ever seen it around here before. Even more impressively, no one had ever seen the man who stepped out of it before. Sheriff Mills, the town’s beautiful young sheriff sitting in the farthest booth from the door, saw him before anyone else.

     “Hey,” she called to Jo and Sam behind the counter, “check it out.” Her voice broke Dean out of his reverie, his attention drawn to the man now walking to the door. He was a slim man, barely breaking six feet as far as Dean could tell, with messy dark hair and a shadow of stubble across his jaw. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the man besides the unseasonable tan trench coat he wore over his rumpled blue suit and, Dean discovered when the man glanced up at the window and caught his eye, the most magnificently blue eyes Dean had ever seen. 

 

 


	2. Peach and Ginger - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winchester's gets a new patron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, I'm so touched by the positive feedback! I was really nervous about posting this, so thank you for being wonderful readers.
> 
> I was going to wait a few days to post the next bit, but I figure why not do it now. After I get these first few sections out the updates will slow down to probably about once a week, but for now, enjoy!
> 
> [Also, just so you're aware, this whole fic is shameless fluff. There's obviously a little angst and emotion here and there, but for the most part this is me trying to give my boys a happy life.]
> 
> I own nothing.

     The little bell above the door chimed as the man pushed it open, everyone in the diner trying hard not to stare too openly. He stood just inside the door as if he was waiting for something; Jo waited a few seconds before breaking the ice. She strode over to him with an easy smile and a brown leatherbound Winchester’s menu.

     “Hi there! Welcome to Winchester’s. You stayin’ or goin’?”

     The man turned his gaze to her with a small smile.

     “Staying, please.” His voice came out in a rumble, much deeper than Dean had expected. Dean turned back to his pie as Jo walked the man over to a seat at the counter. As the man looked over the menu, Dean couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to the back of his head, his curiosity piqued by this addition to the routine of the diner.

     “I’d try the pie if I were you,” Dean called from his seat in the booth. The man shifted on his stool and turned his whole body so he was facing Dean, his feet resting gently on the lower rungs of the seat. He cocked his head to the side and kept his hands folded loosely in his lap.

     “Isn’t 10 in the morning a bit early for pie?” He inquired, his deep voice quiet. In the corner Sheriff Mills chuckled as Ellen chose this moment to stride in from the kitchen, amusement clear on her face as she took in the new addition to the scenery.

     “Honey, around here it’s never too early for pie.” She smiled at the man, “You must be new here, I haven’t seen you around before. I’m Ellen, this is Jo, and that’s Sam,” she continued, gesturing to each as she named them, “that over in the corner is Sheriff Jody Mills,” Sheriff Mills smiled and waved, “and that lunatic in the booth is Dean.”

     “Hey!” Dean protested, “I’m not a lunatic!”

     “Any man who spends his free time hanging out at his job is a lunatic in my book,” Ellen shot back, raising her eyebrows in Dean’s general direction. Before Dean could respond, the man turned his attention to him.

     “You work here?” He asked. Dean nodded. “I’ll have to take your advice, then. I’ll have a cup of coffee and a slice of the pie, please...Jo, correct?”

     “Coming right up,” Jo smiled, “I didn’t catch your name.”

     “Castiel.” He responded, shoulders tensing slightly as he watched Jo’s reaction.

     “Castiel.” She tried, as if testing the way his name felt on her tongue, “Unusual. I like it!”

     He smiled, relaxing a little bit.

     “There’s a hook by the door if you want to hang your coat,” Jo continued, “I’ll just go grab you that pie. I’ve got a fresh one in the back that’s just about ready to cut.”

     “Thank you, Jo.” Castiel said with a small smile. As she walked back into the kitchen, he stood to take off his coat. Dean watched him as he walked to the door, hung his coat on the hook, and made his way back to his seat. When he passed by Dean’s booth, Dean couldn’t help but say something. Later he would insist he was just being friendly, but a small part of him wanted the attention of those big blue eyes again.

     “Castiel, that’s an interesting name. Does it mean something?”

     Castiel turned to Dean, taking him in for a moment before responding.

     “It’s a family name,” he said quietly, dropping his gaze shyly, “I’ve often been told it’s a bit strange.”

     “N’ah, man, I like it, it’s a cool name,” Dean rushed, not really understanding why he was trying so hard to get this guy to like him, but giving in to the impulse nonetheless, “I always wished I had a cooler name, but Sam and me were named for our grandparents so...” he trailed off, suddenly embarrassed he was bothering this guy who clearly had just come in for a coffee and some food, not name validation and Dean’s family history.

     Castiel looked up again, the intensity in his blue eyes making Dean’s breath catch in his throat. “You and Sam, you’re brothers?” he asked.

     Dean was suddenly aware of the difference in their eye levels, Castiel looking down to make eye contact with Dean as he sat in the booth. Seized by a newfound desire for social contact, Dean nodded and gestured at the seat across from him in his booth.

     “Dude, sit, please. Pie is always better with company.”

     Castiel stood staring at him for a second, something that Dean was beginning to think was just part of his method of interacting with others.

     “I would like that very much, thank you, Dean.” He slid into the booth, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

     “Do you have family around here?” Dean asked, picking up his now-lukewarm coffee to take a sip as Jo brought Castiel his coffee and pie, winking at Dean as she walked away.

     Castiel shook his head as he stirred a bit of creamer into his mug.

     “I wanted to get out of the city. I’ve lived surrounded by the same people in the same city my whole life. I felt it was time to try something new, on my own.”

     Dean nodded in understanding.

     “Do you have a job?” Dean asked, his curiosity getting the better of his manners, “I’m sure we could use another cook for the couple days a month Sammy and I take off.” He grinned.

     Castiel returned the smile with a shake of his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I do have a job. I teach tenth grade Literature.”

     Dean whistled. “A teacher, huh? I hope for your sake your students are nothing like what I was like in high school.”

     Castiel regarded him for a second with the kind of quiet intensity that Dean knew should make him uncomfortable, but really just made him feel like something about him was worth noticing. But instead of saying anything, Castiel smiled softly and picked up his fork. Without a word, he cut off the tip of the slice in front of him and slid it onto the fork. Dean tried not to notice how nice his hands were, all slender fingers and well-kept nails, the tendons stretching under smooth skin. He waited patiently for Castiel’s reaction; it had been a long time since he got to witness someone’s first bite of his mother’s pie.

     Castiel closed his eyes as he chewed his bite of pie and Dean stayed quiet, not wanting to rush his reaction. Castiel swallowed and opened his eyes. Pinning Dean with his sapphire stare, he took a moment, and then said softly,

     “I imagine this is what sunshine would taste like.”

     Dean gaped at Castiel, unable to think of an adequate response, allowing his constant pang of grief to expand in his stomach like the pain that blossoms after a punch to the gut. He knew the story of the first time Mary made this pie for John, knew his reaction, knew what caused this pie to be only made this one week every year. But there was no way Castiel could have known any of that. And, curiously, behind the consuming emptiness of grief, his heart gave a little flutter Dean could not identify.

     "Dean, are you alright? Was that a strange thing to say?” Castiel’s brow furrowed with concern as he leaned across the table to recapture Dean’s attention.

     Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah man, I’m fine. So you like the pie?” He grinned at Castiel, “I told you, didn’t I?”

     “How’s he like the pie? Best thing you’ve ever eaten, right, Castiel?” Jo teased from behind him, where she was wiping down a table.

     Castiel turned his head to direct his gentle smile at Jo, “it is truly remarkable pie, Jo. Are you responsible for it?”

     Jo smiled back at him, though now her eyes were sad. “This one, yes,” she responded, leaving her spray bottle to stride over to their table and lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “but I can’t take all the credit. It’s Dean’s mom’s recipe. Anything delicious you have here is all thanks to her.”

     Castiel turned his attention back to Dean. “Your mother is a chef?” He inquired, his head tilted to the side again.

     Dean cleared his throat again, rubbing his hand along the line of his jaw. Castiel tried his hardest not to follow the path of Dean’s hand across the sharp, stubbled line of his jaw. He didn’t do a very good job, but Dean was too distracted to notice.

     “She was. She taught me and Sammy everything we know. And then when Jo came along, she taught her too,” he explained, eyes cast down on the table. He didn’t know why he was explaining all of this to some guy he had just met, but just like the eye contact earlier, it didn’t feel weird. It felt right. He lifted his eyes to look at Castiel, whose eyes mirrored the sadness he was sure was visible in his. None of the pity or forced empathy he usually got; it was refreshing.

     “Dean, I’m --” Castiel was cut off by a bang as the front door swung open and whacked the back of his seat.

     “Jo, where’s that mother of yours?” Bobby growled, “I’ve got a bone to pick with her and Rufus about -- who the hell are you?” He stopped short as he noticed a new face at the table.

     Castiel stood and offered Bobby his hand, “I’m Castiel, I’m new.”

     “Bobby Singer, resident handyman and apparently Rufus’s favorite person to jerk around.” Bobby turned his glare to Dean, “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that wiring. I been down in that basement the last two hours, that wiring is perfect. Where is that son of a bitch, I wanna give him a piece of my mind.”

     “Bobby Singer, you fix that damn wiring yet?” Ellen’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “am I gonna have to shut down this afternoon or what?”

     “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with the wiring!” Bobby stormed, stomping away from the booth toward the sound of Ellen’s voice, muttering to himself the whole way.

     Jo shoved Dean further into the booth. Elbows on the table she leaned closer to Castiel and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “those two have been dancing around it for as long as I can remember. Dean and me,” she elbowed Dean in the side, “we keep trying to get them to admit it but they never do. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.” She tilted her head in a striking imitation of Castiel himself and watched him a moment. “What about you, Castiel? Anyone waiting for you at home?”

     “No.” He replied, giving Jo a small smile. He seemed to have no desire to elaborate, so Jo flashed him a grin and stood to get back to work.

     “Well who knows, a new town, a new year; maybe that’ll change.” With that, she turned on her heel and winked quickly at Dean, who flushed a faint shade of pink as she strolled back to rejoin Sam behind the register. Dean, in an attempt to calm the blushing in his cheeks, watched Sam stride into the kitchen with a stack of orders to fill. Castiel took the few quiet moments to finish his pie before Dean cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Castiel.

     “So when does school start up again?” He asked, genuinely interested. Castiel saw it for what it was -- a way out of an uncomfortable conversation -- but let it slide.

     “Tomorrow, actually.” He responded, “Speaking of which, I have lesson plans to finish. Will ten dollars suffice the pie and the coffee?”

     “Please,” Dean scoffed, “your first day in town? It’s on the house.”

     “Dean, I couldn’t possibly –“ Castiel insisted. Dean waved him off as they both stood.

     “Thank you, Dean. That is…very kind of you.”

     “No problem, man.” Dean’s ears were turning pink again. He reached down to gather the pie plates and mugs to carry into the kitchen. Castiel raised a hand in farewell to Jo, who flashed him her widest smile while dropping a handful of coins into the register drawer.

     “Bye, Castiel! Come back soon!” She called brightly.

     Castiel smiled in response before pushing the door open, a gust of warm summer air billowing in around him as he walked out into the sunshine. Dean stood and watched his back for a moment. The chime of the bell above the door reminded him where he was as the door slid closed. He strode into the kitchen, past Sam at the stove, and to the back where Ash washed dishes. He held onto his mug as he dropped the other dishes into the soapy water.

     Ash stood with his back to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

     “Dude, you okay?” Dean asked.

     “I’m centering myself.” Ash replied, “this is what I get for comin’ in late, man. A pile of dishes higher’n any I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen plenty.” Ash swept his dirty blonde mullet back into a ponytail and spun to face the sink, “So I’m not wastin’ any time complainin’. Doctor Badass is in!” Dean walked chuckling through the kitchen as Ash plunged his hands in the soapy water, yelping, “GoddAMN that’s HOT!”

     Dean pushed the swinging kitchen door out of the way with his foot, almost falling flat on his face as Sam chose that exact moment to walk past the door.

     “Out of the way, moose man.” Dean teased, skirting around him toward the coffee machine at the last second. He picked the full pot off the hot plate, filling his cup as Sam loped up behind him.

     “So I see you made a new friend.” Sam had that twinkle in his eye that meant he was about to become completely insufferable, so Dean rolled his eyes and tried to evade his brother’s stare, sliding around him to walk back to his booth. “Don’t be like that, Dean! I think it’s cute!” Sam called after him, laughing. Dean held himself back from flipping his little brother off, choosing instead to ignore his teasing. But as he strode back to his booth, coffee in hand, a tan trench coat hanging on the hook beside the door caught his attention.

     Dean put his mug down on the table, grabbed the coat off the hook, and pushed the door open, fairly certain Castiel was long gone but needing to check anyway. As he lifted his hand to block some of the bright sunlight from his eyes, that previously-unfamiliar black car pulled into the lot. Castiel waved at Dean from the driver’s seat, pulling up next to him and rolling down the window.

     “I was halfway home when I realized I had forgotten it,” he confessed sheepishly,  “I would’ve waited to come back and get it but…it has sentimental value.”

     “Well it’s still okay if you come back later,” Dean joked, handing the coat to Castiel through his open window, “we’re open 24 hours. And I won’t think you’re stalking me.”

     Castiel fixed Dean with that intense stare again as the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “I can assure you, Dean, I will definitely be back soon.” He glanced back at the large windows lining the front of the diner. “After all, you’re the only people I know around here.”

     Castiel turned and tucked the coat away on the passenger seat. “But now, I’m afraid I must be off,” he said, looking genuinely sorry about that fact. Dean nodded and stepped away from the car, smiling as Castiel backed up out of the lot and gave him a little wave as he turned and pulled into the street.

     Dean waved back, then turned back to the diner, taking the three steps up to the door in one, his heart lighter than it had been in a very long time. Suddenly, the thought of sitting in the booth and finishing his coffee was a welcome one. But as soon as he made it back to the booth, a loud crash in the kitchen stole away any possibilities of relaxation. Running back into the kitchen, Dean stopped dead in his tracks and doubled over with peals of laughter at the sight that greeted him. Sam lay sprawled out on the floor covered in flour, pots and pans scattered all around him.

     “I was trying to get the bag of flour off the top shelf for Jo!” He moaned, “why do we even keep it on the top shelf?! It’s huge!”

     “Ash is gonna kill you, dude!” Dean croaked at him, breathless with laughter. He grabbed his side and, taking a couple of deep breaths to calm down his laughter, walked still chuckling over to the corner of the kitchen where they kept the mop.


	3. Peach and Ginger - Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at Winchester's continues on as usual, but everything is looking just a little brighter to Dean these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm awful at chapter summaries.
> 
> I'm still beyond astonished that people are reading this. Thank you for all the positive feedback, you guys rock my world.

     When Dean was able to breathe again, they got the kitchen cleaned up and carried the now-dirty pots and pans back to Ash, who stared them down before thanking Sam “for the challenge.” He got to work resanitizing every single piece Sam had dropped as Dean pushed Sam out the back door.

     “Go clean yourself up.” Dean chuckled, “you look like you lost a fight with the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

     As Sam walked, muttering, to his car, Dean turned back to the kitchen and grabbed an apron. Tying it securely at his hips (as he always did), he threaded a clean towel through the waistband and looked at the line of orders hanging above the stove, waiting to be filled. He took a deep breath and grabbed his spatula. The clock above his head read 11:17am; another day, another shift. He turned up the volume on the old radio next to the stove, AC/DC filtering through the kitchen, and set to work.

* * *

     Fourteen and a half hours of salads, burgers, and omelettes later, the phone on the wall rang, shrill in the calm of the 3am lull. Dean ran to pick it up, adrenaline coursing in his veins from the sudden interruption.

     “Hello?” he answered, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

     “Dean?” Jo’s voice came through the receiver adopting a tone almost identical to Ellen’s, “I’ll be in in a few. Cassie’s coming back today, so you better be ready to leave as soon as I walk through that door.”

     Cassie, Jo’s best friend and neighbor, had been the diner’s fourth and final cook since she and Dean had finished high school. She had spent the following four years supplementing her income through college with the shifts nobody wanted, and staying on even when she graduated for the family she had come to feel a part of.

     “Oh right, Cassie’s home.” Dean didn’t want to admit he had lost track of the days since Cassie had left for vacation. “Where was she, again?”

     Jo sighed.  "Road trip, remember? To and from Santa Monica, down Route 66? You talked to her about it like four days ago."

     "Right right right." Dean cursed his lack of sleep. He had known that. "Sorry, long night. You're close?"

     "About to turn into the lot." Jo responded, "Is there anyone there?"

     Dean peeked out into the dining room where two grizzled men sat at the counter, each nursing a cup of coffee and a slice of pie. "Samuel and Christian. It’s been real quiet tonight."

     "Good. Be there in like twelve seconds." Jo hung up. Dean set the phone back in its cradle and strode out behind the counter to see if the men needed anything else.

     "Gentlemen, you will be glad to hear that I will soon be replaced by two beautiful ladies." Dean informed them as he wiped nonexistent crumbs from the counter with his rag. Samuel glanced up at him.

     "Two?" He inquired, then immediately realized his mistake, "Oh Cassie's back, is she?" Dean nodded.

Christian smirked at him from across his cup, "Yeah well that's lucky. We need both of 'em to fix the emotional damage done by your ugly mug, Winchester."

     Dean snickered back at him, "Like you're one to talk, Campbell. Clearly your sister got all the looks."

     "Behave, boys." Samuel droned, "It's too late for this crap."

     Dean's snarky response was cut off by a gust of wind from the back door blowing the kitchen door open, revealing the two women who had just entered the building.

     “Look who I found in the parking lot!” Jo sang as she stopped to grab an apron and Cassie swept towards Dean with arms outstretched. He caught her in a huge hug and spun her around, her chin resting on his shoulder and her feet spun out behind her. She laughed with joy and held him even tighter.

     "I missed you too," he chuckled as he set her down in front of him, admiring the way the wind outside had tossed her dark curls around her face.

     "Yeah, so much you forgot where I went," she teased, whacking him on the arm, "Hi guys." She directed her attention to the Campbells for a moment before turning back to Dean, who gave her his cheekiest smile.

     "I didn't want to think about you being away," he pouted, "so why would I dwell on where you'd gone?"

     "Awww," Cassie laughed, putting her hand on his cheek, "you're too sweet." She slapped him lightly on the face, sticking her tongue out at him and turning to go back into the kitchen for an apron. The bright lights of the diner did nothing to diminish Cassie's beauty, the return of which added an air of elegance to the place. Her bright smile against her dark skin, the twinkle in her mahogany eyes; if it hadn't been for Adam, Cassie's boyfriend of six years, Dean was sure at least half of the customers would have proposed to her by now. A few had tried even knowing about her relationship. He already felt more at peace now that she was back.

     As she glided out from the kitchen, tying the strings of her apron around her waist in her usual double knot, she fixed Dean with a stern glance.

     "Get." She commanded, gesturing back toward the kitchen with her thumb, "go to bed. Jo told me what you've been pulling since I've been gone, and it's done. You come back before noon we're gonna have a problem." She stared him down until he nodded feebly, untying his apron and digging the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. Her gaze softened considerably and her eyes sparkled as she added, "get some rest, Dean. You look like shit."

     He plopped a kiss down on the top of her ebony curls and waved to the Campbells as he shuffled to the kitchen, pausing only to throw his apron at the hamper and wave goodbye to Jo. Crossing the parking lot to the Impala, he took a moment to admire the way the moonlight gleamed across his car. The thing really was his baby; he had spent the entire summer after his senior year of high school fixing it up with no help from Bobby or John. It had taken him months to track down all the parts, using every last bit of his paychecks to pay for them. The first car he had rebuilt alone, the sense of accomplishment he felt when he was done had been overwhelming. Even now, he could still feel the ghost of that pride when he looked at her. Mary had said she was the most beautiful car she had ever seen in her life.

     Dean unlocked the car and fell into the driver's seat, exhaustion hitting him full force. He hadn't noticed how tired he was while he was working, but now that he had stopped, he thought he could probably fall asleep right here in his car. It wouldn't be the first time. But somehow he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to make the drive home, pulling into the driveway and making his way up the walk to the front door in almost complete darkness. He felt his way to his room and, throwing his keys and phone on the bedside table, fell into bed fully clothed. He toed his shoes off and crawled under the covers, out like a light less than four minutes after he walked through the front door. 

* * *

     Hours later, sunlight streaming through the windows roused Dean from his coma-like slumber. He rolled over to check the time and saw he had a text from Sam, from some four hours earlier.

     "7:48am left u some bacon. don't come to in this am, cass will murder u. will txt u when dad starts yawning" Dean smirked. For such a smart kid, Sammy really didn't let it show in his texts. Suddenly, Dean frowned; if the smell of frying bacon hadn't woken him up, he must have really been out. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so well, and without remembering any of his dreams.

     Though maybe he did. He vaguely remembered a flash of blue, like a perfect sapphire. A flash of blue and an odd fluttering in his heart, unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant.

     As the last wisps of the night's dreams faded from Dean's memory, he pushed himself up out of bed and stripped off the rest of his clothes, having somehow lost his tshirt and belt during the night. He half-remembered flinging his belt into the corner of his room in a fit of rage after it wouldn't stop pressing into his stomach as he slept, but at the time had definitely thought it was a dream. Now, seeing the belt lying on the floor as far away from the bed as possible, Dean smiled; definitely not a dream. He grabbed his towel and strode, once again stark naked, to the bathroom.

     The late morning sunshine streamed in through the window high up on the wall, bathing Dean in its warm glow. His muscles flexed under golden, freckle-dotted skin; as he stood under the warm water, he reveled in the feeling of his well-rested body. His movements were fluid and sure, nothing stiff, for once, nothing sore. His green eyes shone, the crowsfeet lining them crinkling from the light smile effortlessly gracing his lips. Leaning back to wash the shampoo from his hair, he let the water cascade down his face, waking his senses even further. The suds melted down his body, the contrast sharp between the white foam and both his golden skin and the black curves of the tattoo on his chest. His body hummed with excitement, but what for, he had no idea; after all, it really was just another day.

     Turning off the water and stepping onto the mat, Dean grabbed his towel and scrubbed it through his hair before wrapping it loosely around his hips. He took the steps down to the first floor three at a time, jumping down the last two, scrambling for a grip on his towel as it threatened to fall to his ankles. On the kitchen table, he found a note in his dad's scrawl next to a plate of cold bacon. He grabbed a piece and stuck it in his mouth before picking up the note.  

"1045am

d -

going to work. don't come in before 3 (says Ellen). call bobby.

dad **"**  


     Dean set the note back down on the table while scrubbing the bacon grease from his fingers off on his towel. He grabbed the phone from the counter, dialing Bobby's number from memory before he could forget to call. It rang twice before Bobby's growl replaced it.

     "What?"

     "Hey Bobby it's Dean."

     "I know it's you, ya idjit, I have caller ID and I just left John and Sam workin. What do you want?"

     "Dad told me to call you." Dean powered through;  Bobby's grumpiness was nothing new to him.

     "I got an old junker just came in I wanted to know if you would be inerested in takin a look at it." Bobby paused for a moment and when he continued, his voice was much softer. "It's been a while since you came around, boy."

     Dean paused for a moment. He and Bobby both knew how long it had been since he had been by; Dean had been messing around in the scrap yard when he had gotten the call that Mary had died.

     But today was a new day, and though Dean couldn't explain this newfound positivity, he wasn't going to ignore it.

     "Yeah, Bobby, I'd love to. Maybe this afternoon before I go to work? I just have to grab some food first." 

     "That's fine," Dean could hear the smile in Bobby's voice, "I ain't got much to do today, I'll be around. Bring me some o' that pie when you come." And with that, Bobby hung up.

     Dean set the phone back in its cradle and stood in slight bewilderment for a moment. Had he really just agreed to go back to the scrapyard? Shaking his head at the marvel that this day was shaping up to be, he went upstairs to throw on some clothes and grab his essentials.

* * *

     Fifteen minutes later, Dean pulled into his usual spot in the parking lot behind the restaurant, taking a moment to sit and let the sunshine warm his face before striding to the back door with a skip in his step. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what had caused this drastic upswing in his mood, but he wasn't going to question it too much; he couldn't remember the last time his smile had come so easily.

     Dean pushed through the back door and right into Cassie, who was dropping her apron in the hamper with one hand and pulling the hair tie out of her hair with the other. She squealed and tried to jump out of the way, succeeding only in stumbling over and almost hitting her head on the wall, her dark curls flying every which way. Dean, reflexes sharp from his night of sleep and newly discovered positive attitude, grabbed her at the last second, pulling her to his chest and quickly setting her back on her feet. Cassie snaked her arms around his waist and gave him a quick hug before pulling back and making a face at him.

     "My savior!" She swooned, before poking him in the ribs, "Y’know I don’t think it counts as saving the damsel if you’re the one who puts her in distress." Dean stuck out his tongue at her and moved towards the door to the dining room.

     "What can I say, sweetheart, I'm a hero." He grinned back and winked as he made his way to the dining room to grab Bobby's pie.

     A minute later, after clapping a well-rested looking John on the shoulder and packing up the pie, he returned to the kitchen.

     "Oh, speaking of sweethearts," Cassie started, at which Dean quirked an eyebrow in question, "I met your new friend this morning. Castiel?"

     Dean felt his heart jump involuntarily. He also couldn't help but notice a fleeting sense of…disappointment? But as soon as he acknowledged it, it was gone.

     "Why'd sweethearts make you think of that?"

     "Oh don't play dumb with me, Dean Winchester. You may be totally unaware of your appeal, but even you must've noticed the guy likes you." Cassie gave him a knowing look. Dean could feel the blush rising hot in his cheeks.

     "He doesn't know anyone around here, I just met him yesterday." Dean mumbled, toying with the side of the pie box. Christ, when did he turn into a twelve year old girl? “It’s no big deal.” Cassie bit her lip to keep in her laughter, eyes big and full of pity and amusement.

     "Oh, Dean." She sighed, chuckling, pulling him into a hug, "We all just want you to be happy." She whispered into his ear before pecking him on the cheek and pulling back. "And I don't care what you say, this Castiel guy? He likes you. People don't show up for pie at 730 in the morning for casual friends. No matter how good the pie is."

* * *

     Driving to Bobby's with a smile on his face, Dean left the windows down and the radio off, favoring instead the whistle of the breeze and the sounds of life around his town. As he pulled into the scrap yard, he saw Bobby buried under the hood of a beat up beige sedan. He parked the Impala and strode over to Bobby, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the pie box.

     "What's wrong with her?" He called as he approached the car and its doctor.

     "A million different things." Bobby snorted, straightening up and grabbing the pie from Dean’s outstretched hand, "I don't even know if it's worth it to fix 'er up."

     The two stared into the mangled insides of the car for a minute longer, before Bobby shrugged.

     I dunno, if you wanna give it a shot you're more 'n welcome. I don't know what else to do with her, really. 'S gonna be one hell of a job, though." Bobby peered at him from under the brim of his trucker cap, lips pressed into a tight line, waiting for Dean's response.

     Dean gazed around the yard for the first time in five years. He had nearly forgotten the dusty smell of the place, the familiar glint of the sun bouncing off metal, the chiming of extra parts hitting together somewhere off in the distance. He hadn't realized how much he had missed it until he came back. And now that he was back, he couldn't imagine leaving again for so long.

     “I’ll take a look at her, see what I can do.” Dean nodded to himself, already beginning the mental list of what needed to be checked first. Bobby nodded gruffly, clapping him on the shoulder before walking to the house to eat his pie. Dean bent over the hood, hands bracing either side of him on the frame of the car, taking preliminary stock of the damage. A familiar but long-unexperienced sense of comfort washed over him as he triaged the car; he really hadn’t realized how much he had missed this until he had it back.

 

 


	4. Peach and Ginger - Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's got a crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys this is literally just shameless fluff.

     Minutes bled into hours at the scrapyard, and before Dean knew it AC/DC was jangling from his back pocket as the late afternoon sun glinted off the cars scattered throughout the lot.

     “Yep,” Dean tucked his phone between his ear and his shoulder, still buried under the hood of the sedan, taking stock of everything that was wrong with her.

     “Dad’s getting tired, you coming in soon?” Sam’s voice filtered through the receiver, backed by the usual clamor of the diner. Dean stood up, grabbing a rag from the toolbox next to him to wipe the grease off his hands and pulling down the hood of the car.

     “Yeah, I’m at Bobby’s, I’ll be there in 10, 15 tops.” He replied before ending the call. “Hey Bobby, I’m going to work!” He called up to the house, slipping his phone back into his pocket and grabbing his keys. Bobby waved through the kitchen window and Dean strode over to the Impala, sliding into the front seat and smiling as the purr of her engine rumbled around him. The drive to the restaurant passed quickly, sunshine streaming in through the windows with the breeze.

     Impala safe in her parking spot, Dean burst in through the back door, grabbed an apron, and smacked Sammy on the back of the head as he strode through the kitchen to the front. He saluted Rufus, who was sitting at the counter in a heated debate with a trucker seated next to him, and walked up to where John was standing behind the register.

     “Hey dad,” Dean greeted with a smile, “how’s it been today?”

     "Hey son,” John smiled back, the fatigue clear in the lines around his eyes, but happy nonetheless, “it’s been good. Busy. I met your friend, the one with the funny name.”

     Dean’s heart dropped a fraction; he had forgotten Cassie had said Cas was in earlier. Dean hadn’t realized he wanted to see him until he had the possibility ripped away.

     “Oh, Castiel?” Dean asked casually, knowing he was the one John meant, “yeah I just met him yesterday, he seems like a good guy.” John smiled at him and nodded.

     “He was very polite. Asked if you were here, looked a little disappointed when I said no but had some pie anyway. I think he’s got a little crush on Jo.”

     Dean’s stomach dropped but he kept the smile easy on his lips.

     “Couldn’t blame him if he did,” he chuckled, keeping his disappointment to himself. He had just met the guy yesterday, he had no claim over him. If he had thought of those sapphire eyes more than a few times today, who had to know.

     John eyed him for a minute before pushing the register drawer closed and beginning to untie his apron.

     “You and Sammy got it covered for the rest of the day?” He asked, “Cassie’ll be back around 3.”

     “Yeah we got it,” Dean reassured him, “we might want to start thinking about hiring another chef, though, Dad, it’s getting a little tight these days. Plus with Ben and Emma going back to school soon, we’re gonna be short on servers.”

     Some of the high school students John hired as servers worked their job into their class schedules, grouping their free hours at the end of the day to come in and work a shift before curfew, but others only worked the summer and breaks. Ben and Emma, two of Dean’s favorite servers, took too many classes to work during the week, though, so the end of the summer was always a scramble to find people to fill those shifts.

     “Ellen has some applications in the back,” John replied, moving towards the kitchen, “I’ll pull the file out for you, if you get a minute take a look through ‘em.”

     Dean nodded as John turned and disappeared into the kitchen, adding it to the mental list of things to do before he left at 3am. He took a look around the dining room, taking in the full tables, Chuck and Becky moving among them, taking orders and chatting with guests. Dean smiled to himself and went to relieve Sammy of his spot behind the stove; there was work to do.

* * *

     Dean, once behind the stove, got into a zone. Losing himself to the rhythm of filling orders, strains of classic rock pouring out of the old radio on the counter next to him, he cooked with a smile. He worked his way through Chuck and Becky leaving, Lucas and Jesse taking their places, until the sun went down and Sam waved on his way out of the kitchen, leaving Dean on his own in the kitchen for the few hours before Jo showed up.

     Dean carried the last few orders out to the dining room himself, handing one plate to Jesse and taking the other to Sheriff Mills at her table.

     “Sheriff,” Dean saluted as he set the omelette and hash browns down on the table in front of her.

     “Heya, Dean,” she said, smiling warmly up at him, “it got quiet real fast, huh?”

     “Yeah, it’s usually like this after dinner,” he shrugged, “it’s great for us, just me, Lucas, n Jesse til Jo gets in at 10.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall above the counter: 748pm.

     “You seen that new friend of yours since yesterday?” she called to him between bites after he was already back behind the counter, swiping at the surface with his rag on his way to the back of the pie case.

     “Castiel?” He called back, crouching behind the case and reaching in to rearrange the pies inside. He hoped Sheriff Mills was far enough away that she couldn’t see the blush rising in his cheeks. “N’ah, Cassie said he was in this morning but I wasn’t here.” The sheriff chuckled.

     “I’m sure he’ll be back,” she said with a wink in her voice.

     “What makes you say that?” Dean asked, straightening up from behind the case as the bell above the door tinkled. “Oh. Cas. Hey!” he stammered, the sheriff’s comical look causing his face to flush bright red.

     “Dean,” Cas smiled, completely unaware of the conversation he had just interrupted, “I’m not too late for a slice of pie, am I?”

     “Never too early or too late for pie here, Castiel,” the sheriff called from her table, “you don’t even have to eat your vegetables first.” Cas turned his smiled to her, tilting his head to the side in greeting.

     “It seems I have a lot to learn about this town,” he chuckled, “but I think I like it already.” The sheriff grinned back at him before turning to her omelette. Cas directed his attention back on Dean.

     “You sure you want more pie?” Dean teased, “Cassie told me you came in this morning. I was sorry I missed you, wanted to say good luck on your first day of school.”

     The smile Dean got in return was more than worth the chick flick quality of the comment. Cas’s face transformed completely with a real smile, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his sparkling eyes, joy seeming to emanate from his gaze. Warmth pooled in the pit of Dean’s stomach at the sight of it, and he knew this was something he needed to make happen more.

     “I may be new here, Dean, but I have learned a thing or two already,” Cas responded wisely, laughter in his eyes, “and one of those things is, there is no such thing as too much pie.” He sat himself down on one of the stools at the counter, hands folded loosely in front of him. Dean tried to keep his eyes from skating over the undone top button of his white shirt, dark blue tie slightly loosened, showing off the dip of his throat. Dean cleared his throat and pulled a plate off the shelf behind him.

     “You know what flavor you want?” He asked. Cas contemplated for a moment, head canted slightly to one side, and then turned his steady gaze on Dean.

     “What do you suggest?” He asked, low voice casual but just gravelly enough to send a wave of heat through Dean’s gut.

     “What, uh, what did you have this morning?” Dean avoided meeting Cas’s gaze, focusing instead on the pies waiting in the case. He had no idea when he turned into a 12-year-old girl or when a man he had met yesterday had developed such a pull over him, but he wasn’t upset about it.

     “Your friend Cassie convinced me to try the blueberry,” Cas answered, a smile in his voice, “it was very good, but a little sweeter than I expected.”

     “Yeah, Cassie loves that blueberry pie,” Dean chuckled, “I, on the other hand, tend to go more for...” He slid a generous slice of the strawberry rhubarb onto the plate and grabbed a fork out of the tray, setting them both down in front of Cas and waving to the sheriff as she made her way out the door, “strawberry. It’s a little tangier, more interesting for the taste buds.” He winked at Cas and leaned against the back counter, arms crossed in front of his chest. Cas’s eyes skated across his exposed arms before dropping to the plate in front of him. As Cas speared the tip of the pie and lifted the bite to his mouth, Dean let his mind drift. He thought about how, this time two days ago, he had no idea the man a few feet in front of him even existed. But in the last thirty-six hours, few moments had passed without a thought of Castiel whispering through his mind, and though this was only their second time meeting, he felt as if he’d known him for years.

     “So?” Dean prompted, “I do good?”

     Cas swallowed his mouthful of pie and gestured to his now half empty plate.

     “I’d say so, yes,” he smirked, slipping another forkful into his mouth. His tongue skated across his lips, catching the traces of sweet syrup left behind, and another wave of heat rolled through Dean’s stomach. He enjoyed the feeling for a moment before breaking the easy silence.

     “So, first day, huh? Any memorable kids?”

     Cas took a moment to consider his answer, absentmindedly sucking the pie filling off his thumb as he did so. Dean forced himself to stay focused, even as the blush began to rise up his neck again.

     “A few,” Cas finally answered, “I try not to pass judgement until at least the end of the first week. But I can already tell one or two will be...interesting.”

     “Yeah?” Dean leaned his forearms on the counter in front of Cas, bringing the two of them much closer together, “Good interesting or bad interesting?”

     “Good interesting,” Cas smiled, not shying away from the decrease in personal space. He lifted another forkful of pie to his mouth, not even trying to hide the fact that he was watching Dean watch him. Just as he was about to elaborate, the bell above the door chimed and two teenage boys tumbled into the diner.

     “Michael, Asher,” Dean boomed across the counter, straightening up and fixing the boys with a welcoming look, “innit a little late for you two to be here?”

     “Mom said we could come and ask about our applications,” the younger of the two, Asher, explained, “oh!” He caught sight of Cas, who had turned on his stool to witness the interruption, “Hi Mr. Novak.”

     “Hello, Asher,” Cas greeted him, “You are applying to work here?”

     Asher nodded.

     “I’m Michael,” the taller boy greeted, striding over and offering his hand to Cas, “Asher’s older brother.”

     “Pleasure to meet you, Michael,” Cas responded.

     “You two applied to be servers, right?” Dean interrupted, “You know that doesn’t mean you get out of going to school.”

     The two nodded.

     “Asher, we don’t usually hire kids your age, but if you two are both gonna be working maybe we can make an exception. You’re only getting weekends though, you gotta study during the week. Michael you can have a weekend and two weekdays, you can talk to Ellen about which days work best. That sound fair?”

     Michael and Asher looked at each other and then back to Dean.

     “Does...does that mean we’re hired?” Michael asked, hesitantly.

     “Yeah, man! Congrats!” Dean laughed.

     The brothers whooped and high-fived each other before thanking Dean and rushing out. Dean watched them go with a grin on his face, Cas watching his every move.

     “What?”

     “You just made them very happy,” Cas stated. Dean smiled.

     “Yeah, well. We’ll probably take all the kids who applied, we need the staff and they need the jobs. Plus they’re all good kids.”

     Cas continued to watch him with gentle amusement. Dean settled against the counter again and watched as he turned back to finish his pie. This, he thought, he could get used to.


	5. Peach and Ginger - Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't in the business of pie delivery.

     After that, Cas showed up everyday after school, except for Tuesdays when Dean worked the morning and Cas came in for breakfast. They fell easily into a routine, quickly forgetting how short of a time they had known each other. Cas told Dean about his students, Dean told Cas about the new kids they had hired and his work at the scrapyard. They got to know each other with an ease neither of them had ever experienced before, weaving stories from their pasts into talk of the day to day. Each one squirreled away information about the other, waiting for a time to demonstrate how much they remembered.

     Cas got the opportunity one afternoon in mid-September when his car broke down. He got it towed to the shop and walked that afternoon the mile from the high school to the diner. Dean noticed his car wasn’t in the lot, and when he pressed him for details and got him to confess he had walked from the high school, Dean insisted on driving him home.

     “Dean, no, I couldn’t inconvenience you like that.”

     “Cas, you’re not walking home, it’s like three miles and you’re wearing loafers,” Dean waved off his insistences, grabbing his keys and yelling to Sam in the kitchen he was taking his break and he’d be back soon. “Plus I’m going to try to not be offended that you brought your car to the shop instead of asking me to look at it.” Cas had the decency to look sheepish.

     As the Impala rumbled through the darkening streets, between directions the two made small talk, conversation easy as it always was. When they pulled up in front of Cas’s small brick house, Cas got out to leave, but leaned back through the window after he shut the door.

     “What are you doing tomorrow night?” He asked. Dean swallowed the lump suddenly in his throat; tomorrow was Tuesday, which meant he worked the morning, which meant he had absolutely no plans after working at the scrapyard.

     “Uh, nothing I can think of. Why?” Don’t want to sound too eager.

     “I’d like to cook you dinner. To say thank you, and don’t you dare say I have nothing to thank you for,” Cas said firmly, “just say yes. I found a recipe that will make you like lasagna.”

     “You remembered I don’t like lasagna?” Dean asked, amused, “I mentioned that in passing, like, a month ago.”

     “I find it appalling that someone could not like lasagna,” Cas retorted, “even if you did almost set the house on fire trying to make one.”

     Dean pulled a face at him and smiled.

     “Fine, what time should I be here?”

     Cas grinned back at him.

     “How about six?”

     “Perfect,” Dean smiled, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

     He waved as he pulled away from the curb, trying to keep the massive smile off his face until he was around the corner. Even if it wasn’t a date, it was more time with Cas, which Dean would never object to.

* * *

     Dean likes lasagna again.

* * *

     Their routine continued until one Tuesday at the end of September. Cas always came for breakfast on Tuesdays but the morning hours of Dean’s shift came and went with no sign of him. As the clock hit 10am and John shuffled into the kitchen to relieve Dean of his spot behind the stove, Dean tried not to worry. He was sure Cas had just been running late before school or hadn’t been hungry or something; though the thought of the latter being the reason gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he didn’t let himself consider any worse alternative. Dean threw his apron at the hamper in the corner of the storeroom and strode out to the pie case before he could second guess himself. Grabbing a to-go box from the shelf behind the case, he turned and considered his options.

      _What’s gonna make you look the least like a stalker?_ He thought, sliding a piece of the apple pie Cas had had yesterday out of the case and into the box. He closed the lid, threw it in a bag with a fork, a knife, and a napkin, and made his way to the kitchen and out the back door. Settling himself behind the wheel of the Impala, he took a deep breath and thought over what he was about to do. This definitely went above and beyond the concern of a friend. And as soon as he realized he didn’t care, he _wanted_ to be more than a friend, he stuck the key in the ignition and sped out of the parking lot.

     Driving the painfully familiar route from the diner to the high school brought back all sorts of memories of his earlier years. Flashes of Mary and John in the front of the car, holding hands as they drove the boys to school, filled Dean’s mind as the followed the route on autopilot.

     Before he knew it, he was pulling into the visitor’s lot of the school. He shook his head to clear his mind as he parked the Impala in an empty spot. Grabbing the pie from the passenger seat, he strode up to the front of the school, realizing he had no idea where Cas’s classroom was. He made a quick decision and spun on his heel towards the main office.

     The two women inside the office looked up from their computers when Dean knocked casually on the doorframe. Both older, with varying degrees of grey in their unstyled hair and very little makeup on their plump faces, the women exuded the same grandmotherly kindness, from their cozy pastel sweaters despite the fading summer warmth outside to the kitten figurines sitting next to the pencil cups on their desks. Dean grinned at each of them in turn, winning a smile back from each, before sauntering up and leaning his forearms on the main desk.

     “I was wondering if you beautiful ladies could help me out with something,” he addressed them both, waiting to see who would stand to help him. As he spoke, however, a third woman strode around the corner of the office, a steaming cup of tea in her hand and no-nonsense in her dark brown eyes. She set her mug down on the desk furthest to his left, on which sat a placard that read “Missouri” and a decided lack of kitten figurines, and turned her sharp, but not unfriendly, gaze on Dean.

     “You’re one of John Winchester’s boys, aren’t you?” She asked. Dean nodded. “I thought I recognized you! What can I do for you, sweetheart?” She asked him with a smile.

     "Well, Missouri, right?” She nodded, “Well, Missouri, I’m looking for a friend of mine and I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.” Dean held eye contact with her as he spoke, keeping his voice light despite the anxiety pulling at his heart. He didn’t know what he would do if she said she didn’t know where Cas was.

     “Sure thing, sugar, who’s your friend?” Missouri turned and sat back at her computer, fingers ready on the keyboard.

     “Uh, he’s actually a teacher, Cas--Castiel Novak?” He stammered over his name a bit, realizing at the last minute that most people didn’t call him “Cas”, and felt his cheeks redden just a touch and prayed she wouldn’t notice.

     Luckily, she had turned back to her computer and missed his blushing. She didn’t type anything in, however, and looked back at him.

     “Oh, Castiel!” She nodded, “He isn’t in today, honey. He called in sick this morning.”

     Relief bloomed in Dean's chest. Cas was okay.

      “Ah well, better luck next time I guess,” Dean shot her an easy smile and nodded at her officemates, “Thanks so much for your help.”

     “Sure thing, honey,” Missouri smiled back at him, “You let your daddy know Missouri at the high school says hello.”

     “Will do.” He waved at them and left the office, knowing even before he got back in the Impala where his next stop would be.

* * *

     Dean pulled up in front of Cas’s small brick house with just a touch of nervous energy, his left leg bouncing up and down in the moments before he pushed open the door and got out of the car, jogging up to the porch before he could change his mind and run away. He pushed in the doorbell and waited anxiously, hands in his pockets clenching and unclenching as he counted the seconds that slipped past.

     A few moments later, the door opened, and Dean found himself staring into the blue eyes he found himself thinking about far too often during each and every day.

     “Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted him, warmth in his voice but confusion clear in his eyes, “I was not expecting you.”

     Dean flushed slightly, feeling the heat rise up the back of his neck. He pulled one hand out of his pocket and rubbed it, suddenly questioning his choice to come.

     “I...um...I brought a piece of pie to the school since you didn’t come for breakfast but uh...Missouri? Missouri told me you were out sick so I brought it...here...instead...” Dean’s rambling explanation trailed off and his gaze was drawn to his shoes as he realized how creepy he sounded.

     “You brought pie?” The unexpected thrill in Cas’s voice made it instantly clear to Dean that he didn’t find him creepy at all. Dean met his eyes again and shot him a grin.

     “Yeah, man, it’s...oh I left it in the car” Dean realized, “let me go get it.” Before Cas could respond, he ran back to the car, popping open the passenger’s side door and grabbing the pie before running back up to Cas. “There you go!” He declared, handing the bag to Cas.

     Cas took the bag from his hand gently, never once breaking their eye contact. Dean held Cas’s gaze, unable to look away; the mix of wonder, amusement, affection, and something deeper Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on made him feel as though he was filling with light. He wanted to hold onto the feeling as long as he could.

     “Would you like to come inside?” Cas asked. Dean nodded, unsure if he would be able to speak after the intensity of their stare. Cas turned his body parallel to the door, gesturing with his arm for Dean to walk in first. It was as Dean shuffled past him into the cool interior of Cas’s house that he noticed what Cas was wearing. The most casual Dean had ever seen him, Cas was barefoot, in dark green plaid pajama pants and a soft grey tshirt. Dean couldn’t exactly pinpoint why, but he loved the color of those pants on Cas. For maybe the first time in his life, Dean felt overdressed.

      Cas passed him and led the way into the sunlit kitchen, fresh air blowing gently in through the screen door at the opposite end of the room. Cas grabbed a fork from the drawer and took the pie out of the bag.

      “There’s a fork in the --”

     “I know.” Cas interrupted, handing the metal fork to Dean and digging the plastic one out of the bag for himself.

     “Oh no man, I can’t eat your pie! That’s for you!” Dean set the fork down on the counter in an uncharacteristic sign of self-control. Cas smiled at him over the pie and pushed the container so it was exactly halfway between the two of them.

     “Dean.” He met Dean’s eyes and stared, blue sparkling with amusement. “Eat.”

     Dean challenged him with his stare for a moment before sighing and reaching to grab the fork.

     “You know me,” he said wistfully, “I can never turn down pie.”

     Cas chuckled and reached for his own fork.

     “I’m beginning to find, neither can I.” He confessed, spearing the tip of the piece and putting it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and let out a muffled hum of approval. “Even cold it’s perfect,” he moaned.

     Dean laughed, drawing his fork away from the piece at the last second. “Hey wait, dude, am I gonna get sick if I eat with you?”

     Cas looked up at him, confusion clear in his eyes for a second before he realized the misunderstanding.

     “Oh, no, Dean, I’m not actually ill.” He assured him, “I’ve been finding myself...somewhat distracted these past few weeks and thus unable to finish my grading on time. I took today to finish the compositions I wanted to have done last week. I apologized to my students yesterday and promised I would have them graded and ready to give back by the end of the week.”

     “Oh.” Dean tried not to wonder what was distracting Cas, and tried even harder not to hope it was thoughts of him. “Well in that case...” he joked, cutting off a large hunk of the pie and stuffing it into his mouth. The resulting laugh he got from Cas was enough to drive any hopeful wishes from the front of his mind; it was enough just to be there making him laugh.

     Until a little grey thing scurried across the kitchen floor by his feet, causing Dean to shout in alarm and jump up onto the counter, his butt narrowly missing the pie, feet up on the stool in front of him. Cas’s fork clattered to the counter as he jumped in front of Dean, grabbing his knees and searching his face with a touch of poorly disguised panic.

     “Dean, Dean what is it? What’s wrong?”

     Dean took a steadying breath and turned bright red.

     “It was...I saw...there...a mouse.” He muttered, burying his face in his hands. Cas’s hands left his knees as he tried to keep his fit of laughter silent. Dean looked up, trying not to think about how much he missed the warm weight of Cas’s hands on his knees, and caught the end of his laughter, Cas’s chuckling trailing off but still clear in the upturn of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes.

     “A mouse?” Cas repeated, incredulous.

     “They freak me out, okay?! They scurry and make that scratching noise and they move so damn fast and...stop laughing!” Dean scowled, “If it wasn’t for mice the Plague wouldn’t have been a thing, you know, they’re nasty sons of bitches!”

     Cas fixed him with that stare again, a mixture of wonder and amusement and, there it was again, that affection mixed with something else, something that stirred deep in Dean’s psyche, filling him with warmth and the beginning of a tight coil of heat in the pit of his stomach. Cas shook his head, breaking them out of the moment, and, voice low, murmured, “Just when I think I have you figured out, you continue to intrigue me.”

     Dean’s stomach flipped with pleasure. Cas thought he was interesting.

     “Well I’m glad I intrigue you because it looks like you’re stuck with me until something happens with that mouse.” Dean huffed, poorly hiding his smile, “I’m serious man this is a phobia.”

     “I can see that,” Cas chuckled, “let me see what I can do.”

     Cas turned and rooted around in the fridge for a moment, a hunk of cheese in his hand when he turned back to Dean. He broke the hunk into a handful of little pieces, setting them down a foot or two apart on the floor leading from the wall where Dean pointed out the mouse had disappeared to the screen door, which he pulled open, placing the last few pieces outside on the small deck. He padded back inside and pulled the screen door closed with just enough room left between the door and the frame for a small mouse to slip through. He then returned to the counter where Dean sat, leaning against the edge and watching the wall.

     Dean tried to focus on waiting for the mouse to reappear but found himself distracted by his proximity to Cas. A slightly coconutty smell drifted from Cas’s hair, which Dean wanted nothing more than to drag his fingers through. Dean, lost in fantasies, didn’t notice the mouse following the line of cheese out the door until Cas nudged his leg. Dean watched with Cas as the mouse stopped to eat each piece of cheese, moving steadily along the line until it was out the door and on the porch, at which point Cas swept silently to close the door with a resounding click.

     “HA!” Dean exclaimed, “Suck it, mouseface.” He hopped down off the counter and winked at Cas, “Now let’s finish this pie before he brings his friends back for retaliation.”


	6. Apple - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall can only mean one thing: apple picking!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies! Thank you all for the comments, I'm so glad people are enjoying reading my shameless fluff as much as I enjoy writing it. Sorry this chapter has taken so long to go up.
> 
> Sadly, though, I have a confession to make. I'm finishing up college and, between now and mid-May, I don't know how much time I'll have to write. There's definitely one more chapter coming (hopefully early next week - it's already written!) but after that I might only have time for one more between now and May. But I promise, it'll come!!

     In the weeks following the mouse incident, Dean found his thoughts occupied with Cas even more than they had been before. The two continued to spend time together, causing Jo and Cassie to trade knowing looks whenever Cas showed up at the restaurant and Dean’s face lit up. No one said anything to Dean, knowing his tendency to overanalyze, but as fall swept through town, leaves changing color and the breezes taking on a cool edge, his heart got lighter and lighter. He walked with an unfamiliar skip in his step, smiled with almost no provocation. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this positive but didn’t question it, sure if he did he would immediately find a way to screw it up. So he let it be, choosing instead to tackle each day as it came, hoping and praying the peace would remain, continuing to soften the ache of grief that had made a home for itself in his chest.

     The morning of a Saturday in early October, the crisp fall air felt alive with promise as Dean hauled bags of trash to the dumpster out behind the restaurant. It was a slow morning, despite the rush Saturdays usually brought, so he felt okay about leaving to go apple picking with Sammy and Jo, a yearly tradition that had fallen by the wayside while Sammy was in college. Dean strode back into the warmth of the kitchen, smiling as he heard Cassie’s twinkling laugh float through from the front. He slipped through the door of the kitchen and crept up behind where she stood at the counter, slipping his arms around her waist and squeezing her tight.

     “Right on time!” He growled as she shrieked. he set her back down and saluted Adam, seated at the counter in front of them. “Sir Milligan,” he greeted him. Adam gave him an elaborate bow from his seat.

     “How’s it going, man?” Adam asked as they clasped hands over the counter.

     “No complaints,” Dean replied, nudging Cassie, “thanks for coming in today, by the way. We’ll make sure to bring you guys back some donuts.”

     At this, Adam put his hand over his heart and leaned back on his stool, eyes closed in ecstasy. “Oh, you do know how to make a man happy, Dean. I dream about those damn things,” Adam sighed.

     Cassie laughed and leaned over the counter to plant a loud kiss on Adam’s cheek.

     “Sometimes I think he loves those donuts more than he loves me,” she teases, eyes sparkling with mischief as Dean chuckled beside her.

     “Cassie, come on, you know there’s no competition!” Adam’s eyes snapped open and he leaned towards her, “Baby you’re here all the time, the donuts come and go. I can’t rely on them like I can rely on you.”

     Cassie grinned at him, her face full of undisguised love and amusement.

     “Such a sweet talker,” she laughed, her thumb brushing absently over the top of Adam’s hand where it lay on the counter. The two looked at each other for a moment, lost in their own world of just the two of them. Dean watched their faces with a tinge of pride, having been the one to set them up so many years ago, feeling partially responsible for the love he saw in front of him.

     “Cassie I’m gonna go get changed, Sammy should be here any minute,” Dean said, not wanting to interrupt but really needing to get moving. She turned to direct her smile at him.

     “Alright. Anything special I should know for today?”

     “Uh...no? Ellen’s in the back and Dad’s coming in at 2, think you can handle a few hours on your own?”

     “It’s been slow today, right?” Cassie asked, to which Dean nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be okay. If it gets busy Adam can just grab an apron and help.” Adam agreed and turned his hand over to thread his and Cassie’s fingers together. Dean left the two of them standing like that and was in the process of pulling his sweater over his head in the back when he heard Cassie call his name.

     Still pulling the hem of his off-white sweater to lay flat over the top of his jeans, he pushed his way through the kitchen door to answer Cassie’s call. But as he did, he saw what had caused it. Cas sat at the counter, staring into his cup of coffee, an empty creamer cup on the counter next to his hand. Dean took advantage of his distraction to let his eyes wander across the dark grey sweater laying across Cas’s lithe frame, clinging in all the right places and doing wonders for the blue of his eyes. The half zip at the front of the sweater was pulled down just enough for Dean to catch a glimpse of a white t-shirt underneath, tugged just slightly to one side, displaying a hint of collarbone. Dean swallowed subconsciously and made his way through the door.

     “Hey, Cas!” He smiled and strode around to the front of the counter, claiming the stool next to Cas as he looked up from his coffee and returned Dean’s smile.

     “Hello, Dean,” he greeted him, confusion registering in his eyes as he took in Dean’s sweater, jeans, and work boots, so different from his usual work attire, “Are you leaving?”

     “Yeah, actually, me Sammy and Jo are going apple picking in a few minutes.” Dean watched Cas’s face with more attention than he usually did in conversation, not wanting to miss a thing. At his words, though, he thought he saw a trace of disappointment skirt across Cas’s features, but it was gone before he could pin it down.

     “Ah, that sounds nice,” Cas said, picking up his spoon and stirring his coffee, creamer billowing up from where it had settled at the bottom of the mug. Dean didn’t know if he had imagined the disappointment on Cas’s face, but he knew he didn’t want to spend the whole day away from Cas if there was a chance Cas had wanted to be around him. So before he could think of how many ways this could go wrong, Dean burst out,

     “You should come with us!” He felt a flush begin to rise up the back of his neck and onto his cheeks, and he prayed Cas wouldn’t notice. Cas looked up and caught his eye, staring at him as though trying to read the sincerity or lack thereof from his face alone.

     “Are you sure, Dean?” He asked, giving Dean an out if he wanted one, “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with Sam and Jo.”

     Dean waved him off. “Please, Cas, they’d love to have you. We, uh, we all would.” And there was that damn flush again, but Dean couldn’t think of any reason to dissuade him from joining them. He wanted Cas to come and he needed to make sure he knew it.

     Cas smiled and said, “I’d love to, Dean. I’ve never been.”

     Dean gaped at him. “You’ve never been apple picking before?!”

     Cas shook his head, glancing down at his coffee.

     “I grew up in the city,” he murmured, “we never had occasion.”

     Dean watched him for a moment, reading the sadness deeply rooted in the lines around his eyes, the downturn of his mouth. He knew Cas didn’t have the best childhood memories, but it was moments like this that made him realize there was probably a lot more to this than he knew. But this was neither the time nor the place, so Dean clapped his hands on his knees and stood up, proclaiming,

     “Well that is a crime, Cas. You are a grown man and it’s about time you went apple picking. Come on, we’re meeting Sam and Jo out back, they’re probably here already.”

     Cas stood up but didn’t follow as Dean strode to the kitchen door, pausing when he noticed Cas wasn’t behind him. Cas gestured to the front door.

     “Should I...?”

     “Nah, man, come on.” Dean waved him over and held open the door to the kitchen. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” He whispered, waggling his eyebrows as Cas walked past him into the kitchen. As Dean followed, Cas turned to him.

     “I don’t understand that reference.” He admitted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.

     Once again, Dean gaped at him in disbelief.

     “Dude, seriously? The Wizard of Oz?!”

     Cas shook his head apologetically as they pushed through the back door and out into the crisp fall air.

     Dean sighed, “alright, add it to the list.”

     “The list?”

     “Yeah, the list of things I’m gonna make you do because it’s actually a federal crime for a grown man to have never seen The Wizard of Oz.”

     Dean watched the slow smile transform Cas’s features, a twinkle coming into his sapphire eyes and the lines around his eyes deepening. Though Dean couldn’t deny that Cas was an attractive man, nothing compared to when he smiled a true, heartfelt smile. He was stunning.

     “I think I would like that very much, Dean.” Cas’s quiet rumble and the sparkle in his eyes sent a pool of warmth flooding Dean’s stomach, something he hadn’t felt in far too long. As they looked at each other, Dean felt his want begin to creep its way to the forefront of his mind, urging his hands to touch, his tongue to taste, to back Cas up against the wall of the building and trace over every bit of him he could reach. He began to think about making a move as he started to think he saw a trace of the same want reflected in Cas’s stare, but just as the tension began to be too much, the honking of Sam’s old Jeep shattered the moment. The car rounded the corner into the lot; Dean held up a hand in greeting as Jo rolled down the passenger side window and grinned at the two of them.

     “Cas! Hi! Are you coming with us?”

     “Dean invited me, if that’s alright.” Cas smiled at the pair in the car; not his earth-shattering, mind-blowingly gorgeous smile of before, but still sincere.

     “Of course that’s alright!” Sam called across Jo from the driver’s seat, “hop in, they’ll all be gone by the time we get there!”

     Cas and Dean piled into the backseat of the Jeep, the air between them comfortable but still slightly charged. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if something had just changed between them; the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he had seen desire in the darkening of Cas’s eyes as they stared at each other. But that wasn’t a conversation they could have with Sam and Jo in the car, so he let it be for now, instead spending the ride to the orchard chatting with the other three and singing along to the radio. And if his hand and Cas’s brushed against each other a few times on the seat between them, no one had to know he enjoyed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Sam/Jo! I must confess, it took me a long time to work this out, as a Sam/Jess girl, but I wanted Ellen in this and I love Jo so...this is what we end up with! I hope you enjoyed it, I'll try to have the next bit up by early next week.


	7. Apple - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apple picking!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, guys! I'm so sorry! Only half of the last chapter posted??? That's so annoying ahhh I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out! Okay so here's what should've been the second part of the last chapter and the rest of it will come in a few days. I'm so sorry!

     Leaving the car in the field that passed for a parking lot at the orchard, the four made their way up to the little shack, cool breeze making them grateful they had worn their sweaters despite the sunshine.

     “Alright men,” Jo declared as they reached the counter, “Marching orders: we need 60 pounds of apples.”

     “60?!” Sam gaped, “how many pies are you making!?”

     Jo shared a look with the young woman, Amy according to her nametag, behind the counter.

     “I’m making 20 over the next few days,” she explained patiently, “you know how fast they sell. And we should probably even get more than that if you three want any for yourselves.”

     “And the big bags we sell are $15 for 20 pounds,” Amy cut in, “it really isn’t that hard to get 60 pounds, especially on a slow day like this. The smaller bags are $8 for 10 pounds, if you want some for yourselves too.”

     The boys glanced at each other, unsure.

     “Jo, how about you decide?” Cas volunteered, “we can pick as many apples as you need.”

     Jo shot him a winning smile and gently elbowed Dean in the side before turning back to Amy.

     “In that case, we’ll take three 20 pound bags and one 10 pound, please.” She turned to the boys. Sam handed Amy a wad of bills in exchange for the white plastic sacs and the four of them made their way around behind the shack towards the orchard.

     “Can I trade my share of the apples for a pie?” Dean teased as they walked toward the hills of the orchard.

     “If you make it yourself,” Jo laughed, “I’ve got enough work to do.” She and Sam began to walk a bit ahead, each dangling an empty bag. Dean couldn’t help but notice how close together they walked, the backs of their hands just brushing. He smiled; it had been a long time since Sammy had a girlfriend and he loved Jo. The idea that they might be happy together was unsurprising and his heart swelled a little at the thought.

     “They seem very happy together,” Cas’s voice rumbled from Dean’s right. He turned to meet his gaze.

     “I’m not sure they’re ‘together’ just yet,” Dean smiled, “but it looks like they might be soon. They’ve been dancing around it for a long time, I think.”

     Cas continued to watch him thoughtfully as they strode up the path between the trees.

     “It seems many people have relationships like that among your friends,” he observed, “Bobby and Ellen, Sam and Jo...” he trailed off.

     “I guess a lot of people just take a while to pick up the signals,” Dean said, unsure if he was talking about those couples or his own interest, “But when they find each other they tend to be the happiest, I think. Adam and Cassie were the same way for a while in high school.”

     They stopped in front of a row of trees toward the top of the hill, having lost sight of Sam and Jo. Cas turned to Dean, his head cocked to the side and his brow furrowed slightly in that way that Dean found extremely endearing.

     “What about you, Dean?” He asked quietly, holding Dean’s stare as if he was trying to read his very soul.

     “What about me, what?” Dean murmured, noticing how close Cas was standing but doing nothing to change anything.

     “Do you have someone with whom you’ve been dancing around it?”

     Dean paused for a moment, debating between maintaining his mystery and coming clean about everything. Telling Cas about how much of Dean’s thoughts he occupied, how he was the first thing he thought about when he woke up in the morning and the last thing he thought about before he fell asleep at night. How much trouble he had getting through a conversation with him without acting on the impulse to kiss him like he’d never kissed anyone before. How every time he saw anything blue his heart leapt in his chest, a smile immediately on his face, his stomach warm and tense with a combination of desire and the strongest attraction he’d ever felt at the thought of Cas.

     Scrubbing his hand over where he felt flush rising on the back of his neck, he decided he was done not getting what he wanted. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be tactful about it.

     “I um...I might.” He cleared his throat and met Cas’s gaze, the air electric between them, “But not the same way, I guess. I mean...not...someone from my past.” Dean saw something change in Cas’s eyes, pupils dilating just a touch, blue seeming to darken a shade or two with something warmer than lust. On the precipice of a moment, Dean felt himself leaning more into Cas’s space, until a shriek pierced the air and shattered the moment.

     Dean swung around, trying to pinpoint the location of the commotion. Cas took off running down the row in front of them, Dean taking off after him until they heard laughter pealing through the air. They stumbled to a stop in front of a particularly large tree, up in the branches of which sat Jo and Sam, both in hysterics, clutching each other and the branch beneath them.

     “What the fuck just happened?!” Dean insisted, leaning towards Cas as they stared up the tree at the two shaking with laughter, relief pooling in his stomach when he saw everyone was okay.

     “Sam decided that it would be a good idea to tickle me while we were sitting in a tree,” Jo chuckled, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, “I almost fell out. Your brother is an idiot, Dean.” She stuck her tongue out at Sam, who reached out a hand and shoved her again, letting his hand linger on her arm before pulling away.

     “I thought you had better balance than that,” he laughed, “it’s not my fault you don’t know how to sit.”

     Dean smiled at the two of them, shaking his head.

     “C’mon, Cas, let’s go find a tree not occupied by morons.” He called as he walked down the row.

     “Hey!” Jo’s and Sam’s voices floated down the row at him, making him chuckle. He heard Cas’s footsteps come up next to him, crunching over dead leaves as he came to match Dean’s stride, hands in his pockets, a small smile dancing across his lips.

     Cas stopped in front of a small tree, reaching into the branches to pluck a small red apple from between the leaves. He held it up in front of him, admiring the way the afternoon sunlight played against the deep red. Dean watched him, taking in how his teeth worried his lower lip, the crease between his eyes deepening a touch as he studied the apple, rotating it slowly in his hands before taking a cautious bite out of the side of it.

     Dean didn’t look away as Cas chewed the bite and swallowed, licking the juices from his lips. Dean followed the path of his tongue, stomach tightening not unpleasantly, until Cas spoke.

     “I think this is the best apple I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, “this must be why Jo’s apple pies are so delicious.”

     Dean smiled, relishing the heat in his stomach as he held Cas’s gaze.

     “They’re always the best this time of year,” he found himself speaking softly, matching Cas’s volume despite the fact that they were outside and very noticeably alone, “my mom always used to say that fruit fresh off the tree made the best pies. So we always went apple picking as soon as it got cold enough.”

     Cas watched him quietly for a moment before giving Dean a small smile.

     “Your mom taught her well,” Cas said, “I wish I could bake pies that delicious.”

     “Maybe I could teach you,” Dean blurted out before he could consider what he was offering. But he knew that even if he had stopped to think about it, he would have come to the same conclusion; Mary had taught him how to make his favorite pie when he was a kid, and the fact that he might be able to show off his baking skills and spend more time alone with Cas at the same time was too much to pass up, especially in light of the level they seemed to have reached in the past few hours.

     Cas cocked his head with that curious look that Dean was finding more and more endearing as time went on.

     “You bake?” He asked, not nearly as surprised as Dean had expected him to be.

     “Yeah,” Dean cleared his throat, “well, I mean, I can bake an apple pie. My, uh, my mom taught me. When I was a kid.”

     Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and locked their gazes, eyes full of affection and something deeper that Dean couldn’t quite place, but sent a ripple of warmth through his abdomen.

     “Dean, I would be honored if you would teach me to make your mother’s pie,” he murmured, sincerity clear in his voice. He dropped his hand from Dean’s shoulder and let a smile curl up the corners of his mouth, “I can’t, however, promise I will be the best student. I’ve never been...overly talented in the kitchen.”

     Dean smiled back at him.

     “Don’t worry, I’m an excellent teacher,” he winked at Cas and, reluctantly, turned away from him towards the tree closest to him, “But that does mean we have to actually pick some apples.”

     The wind stirred the leaves on the trees as they walked up and down the row, Cas taking the trees to the left of the path and Dean taking the trees on the right, each picking a few apples and seamlessly moving to the next tree in time with the other. They each carried a bag, Dean a big one for Jo and Cas the smaller one for their pie lesson later. As they neared the end of the row, Dean was overwhelmed by the impulse to climb a tree. Instead of reaching up into the branches to pick a few apples, as they had been doing, he set the almost-full bag on the ground at the base of the tree and hoisted himself up onto the lowest branch. He climbed, jeans and boots scraping the bark as he rose through the branches, until he felt the tree swaying and picked a sturdy branch to sit on.

     His head peeked out above the top of the tree, and he could see clear across the orchard. The cool breeze blew through his sweater and the sun warmed his face as he looked out across the sea of green in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at peace.

     “Dean?” Cas’s voice floated up to him from the path.

     “Up here,” he called, looking down towards the base of the tree. Cas stood with one hand on the trunk, blue eyes looking up at him, “C’mon up, man, the view’s awesome.”

     He watched as Cas pulled himself up into the tree, lithe muscles moving effortlessly under his sweater, to maneuver his body weight up the tree to where Dean sat. He picked a branch just below where Dean perched, his head at Dean’s waist as he settled himself against the trunk, folded his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes.

     “It is very peaceful up here,” he whispered.

     “Mmmm,” Dean responded, admiring the way Cas’s lashes curled on his cheek, ink black against his skin.

     The two sat together in silence for a while, enjoying the peace and the presence of the other, without needing to speak. Dean could feel Cas beside him, and found himself wishing his life could always be like this; peace and quiet, with warm sunshine, a cool breeze, and Cas at his side.

     As the sun began to set across the trees, casting slanted beams of light across the orchard, Dean started to shiver.

     “We should go find Sam and Jo,” he said reluctantly.

     Cas opened his eyes and stared up at him before nodding and unfolding his body from the branch, lowering himself to the ground with ease. Dean followed, picking up the big bag from the ground as Cas picked up their bag, already full.

     As they walked back to where they had left Sam and Jo, each stopping to pick an apple or two a few times to fill Jo’s bag, the silence was not unpleasant. It was a companionable silence, a silence between two people who felt comfortable enough together to just be. Dean didn’t know when they had reached that point, but he was glad they had. As they neared the tree where they had left Sam and Jo, Cas cleared his throat softly.

     “Dean, I just wanted to say,” he stopped, turning to face Dean in the path. Dean stopped too, just outside of Cas’s personal space, and met his gaze, “I just wanted to say thank you. I...I haven’t had an afternoon this enjoyable in quite some time and...thank you for inviting me.”

     Dean didn’t know why his heart leapt into his throat at Cas’s admission, but he swallowed thickly and gave Cas a grin.

     “Of course, man, anytime!” He cocked an eyebrow at Cas, “But we’re still on for pie baking tonight, right? The fresher the apples...” he trailed off.

     Cas returned his smile, light in his eyes.

     “Of course, Dean, I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate it first.” He held Dean’s gaze for a moment longer, stare burning with something unidentifiable, before turning and heading back up the path in search of Sam and Jo.

     Dean felt his heart skip at Cas’s stare but followed him up the path anyway. He had no idea what was going on between the two of them, but he had more time with Cas tonight to figure it out, so he wasn’t going to let it eat away at him now.

     They stopped when they caught a curious rustling from the tree to their left. Dean ducked under the lower branches, Cas following, and burst into peals of laughter when he looked up into the tree.

     “Jo and Sammy sitting in a tree,” he began to tease in a sing-song voice, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

     Sam and Jo, wrapped around each other on one of the upper branches of the tree, broke apart and shot twin glares down at Dean as he shook with laughter. Cas chuckled behind him and shot the two a grin before grabbing Dean’s arm and pulling him out from under the tree.

     “Oh, thank you guys,” Dean called between chuckles as Sam and Jo climbed out of the tree and strode to where Dean and Cas stood on the path, “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages. I’m not even sure which of you to give my blessing to...”

     Sam punched Dean in the arm, a smile creeping onto his face as he reached down for Jo’s hand, entwining their fingers together. Jo stuck her tongue out at Dean; neither of them looked terribly put-out, as they knew the teasing was done with love, but that didn’t mean they had to encourage him.

     Dean wiped a tear of laughter from his eye before turning his big brother look on both of them.

     “No, seriously guys,” he said soberly, “I’m happy for you. Just, y’know, take care of each other and everything. No broken hearts, it’d be a pain in my ass to have to buy tubs of Ben and Jerry’s for both of you.”

     Sam cleared his throat and nodded, thanking Dean with his gaze before turning on his heel and pulling Jo further up along the path.

     “We should go,” he called to Cas and Dean over his shoulder, “the sun’s going down pretty quick.”

     Dean grinned at Cas before following the two lovebirds up the path towards the car.

     “I called it,” he muttered, still chortling, “it’s about damn time, too.”

     He glanced at Cas to find him watching him with poorly masked affection.

     “What?” He laughed.

     “Nothing,” Cas smiled, “you just love them very much, I can tell.”

     Dean watched Sam and Jo’s backs as they walked ahead of them, a surge of affection shooting through him as the two leaned towards each other and smiled.

     “Yeah,” he replied softly, “yeah, I do. Sometimes...I’ve spent my whole life watching out for Sammy and it’s just...it’s nice to see him happy. Plus Jo’s family, so...I don’t know, sometimes it feels like they’re all I’ve got, y’know? ”

     “They’re not,” Cas murmured, watching Dean with soft eyes as they walked up to the car, Sam and Jo already inside. He pulled open the door and climbed into the backseat before Dean could respond. Oh yeah, something was changing between them.

     The ride back was relaxed, Sam and Jo holding hands in the front seat, all four enjoying the scenery as they sped back towards town. The sun was just below the horizon when they pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot, the sky streaked with red and orange and purple. Their breath puffed out in little clouds as the boys carried the three overflowing bags of apples into the kitchen, Cas stashing the little bag in his car before hugging Jo and thanking both her and Sam for the afternoon.

     “Don’t mention it, Cas!” Jo insisted, her eyes shining, “You’re always welcome.”

     Cas’s face lit up at that, and he cast his eyes to the ground as he reached into his pocket for his keys.

     “Dean, would you like to follow me back to my house?” He asked, finding and holding Dean’s gaze.

     Dean cleared his throat, trying to quell the flush creeping up his neck as he thought of what this night might have in store for them.

     “Yeah, man, that sounds great.” He smiled. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and ruffled Jo’s hair, pointing between the two of them as she smacked him on the arm, “You two, behave yourselves. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

     As Cas walked to his car, Jo pulled Dean into a hug and whispered in his ear,

     “Go get him, tiger,” before pulling away and giving him a wink. Dean felt the flush continue to rise up his neck and he turned to the Impala, climbing into the front seat and pulling out to follow Cas to his house, stomach churning with nervous excitement. They were halfway there when he realized they had forgotten Cassie’s donuts.


	8. Apple - Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baking pies (or, at least, trying to)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for any formatting problems, I wanted to post this before the week really got going.
> 
> I can't promise when the next bit will be up but I'll try not to have it be too long!

     The ride to Cas’s house, preoccupied as Dean’s mind was with thoughts of the night ahead, seemed to take no time at all. Before he knew it, the tension and heat in his stomach were growing as Cas pulled into his driveway, Dean parking by the curb in front of the house. He took a moment to smooth his palms over his thighs, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down. This was Cas, after all; this had been building between them for so long, he should be feeling mostly excitement. But the nervous energy coiling around his abdomen solidified what he already knew. He had been falling for Cas for a while and couldn’t bear the thought of screwing it up now.

    Dean got out of the Impala, tugging at the hem of his sweater as he strode up the path to where Cas stood in the doorway. The porch light cast a warm glow across his shoulders, the bag of apples hanging from his hands. Dean couldn’t help but notice the way the skin around his eyes crinkled, his lips tightening just a touch, his hands fidgeting with the handles of the bag.

    “Is everything alright?” Cas asked hesitantly, as though afraid to hear the answer. Dean met his gaze, a warm smile on his lips though he knew Cas could read the nervousness in his hands and his eyes.

“Yeah, Cas,” he reassured him, “everything’s great.” He held their gaze for a moment before an errant shiver traveled up his spine, goosebumps popping up all over his skin. Cas smiled back.

    “Let’s go inside,” he chuckled, “I don’t want you catching a cold before the pie is done.”

    “Cas,” Dean feigned shock as he followed him over the threshold and into the kitchen, stopping only to sweep the door closed behind him, “you keep going like that and I might start to think you only like me for my pie skills!”

    Cas stopped in front of the island in the middle of the kitchen, setting down the bag of apples and turning to face Dean, head canted to one side and blue eyes warm.

     “If that’s what you think, you obviously have not been paying attention,” Cas cocked one eyebrow, leaving Dean at a loss for words, something he was noticing happened more and more around Cas, “I’m sure the pie will, however, be delicious.” Cas smiled.

    Dean grinned back at him, clapping his hands together and moving towards the refrigerator.

    “It will be, but we’ve gotta get started if we want to have it done tonight,” he declared, pulling open the door and rummaging around the fridge for a moment before turning back to Cas, “dude, butter?”

    Cas strode up next to him, shoulders pressed together as they searched through the contents of the fridge. Dean tried his best to ignore the heat of Cas’s arm against his bleeding through their sweaters, focusing instead on the search for butter, but the clean smell of Cas and the sound of his breathing so close was kept pulling his attention away from the contents of the fridge. Too soon, Dean felt him pull back, hand closed triumphantly around a box of butter from the depths of one of the drawers.

    “Check the expiration date on that,” Dean made a face, “it was pretty deep in there.” Cas made a face back before turning the box over in his hands, searching for the small date printed on one of the sides.

    “It’s fine,” he reported a moment later, “what else do we need?”

    Ten minutes of rummaging around in cabinets later, the island was covered in bags and boxes of various baking ingredients. Flour, sugar, butter, shortening, cinnamon, the bag of apples, and a lemon crowded together on one end, the other taken up by a pie plate, a large mixing bowl, and a food processor. Cas took it all in with a quiet chuckle.

    “What’s so funny?” Dean smiled at him.

    “It’s really nothing,” Cas smiled, “I just didn’t even know I owned most of this.” Dean laughed.

    “Not much of a chef, huh? That why you eat so many of your meals at the restaurant?” He teased, picking up a stick of butter and beginning to unwrap it.

    Cas worried his lower lip between his teeth before catching Dean’s eye and murmuring, “Well, one reason, I suppose.”

    The tension in the room grew almost palpable as the two stood locked in their stare. Just as Dean thought to move towards Cas, he felt the butter begin to melt between his fingers. He broke eye contact to throw the stick in the bowl of the food processor, the tension lessening just a touch. Dean cleared his throat, eyes still on the butter as he unwrapped a second stick.

    “Okay man we’ve gotta do this while the butter’s still cold or it won’t hold together,” he murmured, voice catching as he tried to talk around the lump in his throat.

    “Tell me what to do,” Cas responded as he moved around to stand by Dean’s shoulder, matching the volume of his voice.

    The air between them crackled with energy as Dean directed Cas through measuring out ingredients and pulsing the dough in the food processor, but neither one did anything to break the tension. They each waited it out, until they stood shoulder to shoulder, admiring the ball of dough gathered in the bowl.

    “Alright so now we have to wrap it in plastic and let it sit in the freezer for an hour,” Dean murmured, turning to ask Cas where he kept the plastic wrap. But as Cas turned to look back at him, Dean noticed a brush of flour across the other man’s cheekbone. Without thinking, he reached up and dragged the pad of his thumb across Cas’s cheek, sweeping the flour off to reveal the flushed skin underneath. He knew he should pull his hand away - he had already been touching Cas’s face far longer than necessary - but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Acting on impulse, Dean brushed his thumb gently over Cas’s cheekbone again, his hand cupping the curve of the other’s jaw. Not breaking eye contact for a second, Cas nudged his face into Dean’s palm, eyes soft and lips glistening.

    “Cas, I -” Dean breathed, eyes drawn to Cas’s lips.

    “Dean,” Cas interrupted quietly, drawing Dean’s stare back to his, “yes.” The affirmation and unbridled affection in Cas’s gaze spurred Dean to action, finally moving forward to gently brush their lips together. One of Cas’s hands slid up to lay against Dean’s neck, urging their lips together again as Dean’s free hand tightened around Cas’s hip and the other gripped at his jaw. Cas fisted one hand in Dean’s sweater, the heat pooled in his stomach curling around his spine and sending shivers throughout his body as the press of their lips grew more insistent. Cautious, for once, of going too fast, Dean pressed one more kiss to Cas’s lips before pulling away just far enough to lean their foreheads together. Cas carded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck as they stood pressed to each other, sharing breath and body heat. Dean slowly opened his eyes to see Cas’s blue-ringed pupils staring back at him, radiating happiness and adoration. From anyone else that would have terrified Dean, but from Cas it just made his heart jump in his chest.

    “Is this...is this okay?” Dean asked softly, feeling Cas’s warm breath skate over his lips. He felt the chuckle in Cas’s whole body, felt it vibrate in his chest and off his lips.

    “Dean,” Cas murmured back, brushing their lips together once more and running his nails through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck, “this is perfect.”

     Dean smiled, moving in to capture Cas’s lips again with no intention of stopping, as AC/DC began playing from Dean’s pocket. He groaned, pulling away, but not before nipping at Cas’s bottom lip, full of promise. Cas nosed along his jaw as Dean fished in his pocket, pulling out his ringing phone.

     “What?” He demanded, eyes fluttering shut as Cas ghosted his hands up and down his sides, pressing feather light kisses along his neck.

     “Bad time?” Adam chuckled over the line, clearly not at all concerned about whatever it is he was interrupting.

     “You could say that,” Dean managed to get out as Cas’s fingers danced at the skin beneath the hem of his shirt.

     “Yeah well I’d feel worse about it if you hadn’t forgotten my donuts,” Adam said, completely unapologetic.

     “Damn it, I’m sorry, man, it was such a quick trip and” Dean started.

     “It’s fine, Dean,” Adam laughed, “Sam and Jo told us you all were a little…distracted.” Dean could hear the wink in his voice even across the phone line, “I’ll let you get back to it, dude, be safe.” And with that, Dean was left sputtering at an empty phone line.

     “Is everything alright?” Cas murmured from around Dean’s neck. Dean ran his fingers through Cas’s hair and pulled his mouth up to meet his.

     “Yeah, man,” he whispered against Cas’s lips, “everything’s perfect.”

* * *

 

     Hours later (or it could have been minutes, Dean was so caught up in finally being able to do what he'd wanted to for so long he lost all sense of time) the two pulled apart, lips red and kiss-swollen, pupils blown wide. They kept their hands on each other, unable or unwilling to lose the reassurance that the other was really there, Cas with a hand on Dean's neck and one on his shoulder, Dean with both hands gripping Cas's hips. Slowing his breathing to try to slow his pounding heart, Dean leaned his forehead against Cas's and closed his eyes.

     "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do that," Cas sighed, fingers stroking along the hair at the base of Dean's skull.

     "Same here," Dean chuckled. Cas leaned forward and brushed their lips together.

    "We should probably finish making that pie,” he murmured against Dean’s lips, showing no signs of moving from where they were entwined. Dean rubbed this thumbs against Cas’s hipbones and pulled away.

     “We should,” he agreed, “but the dough has to chill for at least an hour first so…” he let the sentence trail off suggestively, a decision he immediately knew was the right one when Cas’s eyes darkened and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smirk full of promise. Cas strode over to pull a roll of plastic wrap from a drawer, quickly wrapping the ball of dough tightly and dropping it in the freezer. He turned back to Dean, eyes dark, and let his eyes rake up and down Dean’s body slowly, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

     “So we’ve got an hour,” he stated, a silent challenge in the relaxed line of his body against the cold metal of the refrigerator, “What should we do to pass the time?”

     Dean closed the gap between the two of them with a few steps, pulling Cas’s body flush against his own. “I can think of a few things,” he growled against Cas’s mouth before raking a hand through his hair and dragging their mouths together. They stumbled from the kitchen into the adjoining living room, Cas falling to the couch and pulling Dean with him. Dean braced himself above him, pressing his hips to Cas’s and tangling their legs together. He took a moment to admire the man below him, blue eyes sparkling, lips pink and swollen, hair a mess, before diving back in to capture his lips again.

     “Hey, Cas?” Dean found himself murmuring the next time he pulled away to breathe.

     “Yes, Dean?” Cas hummed back, not stopping his fingers from where they danced along Dean’s lower back beneath the hem of his shirt.

     “You wanna have dinner with me? Not tonight, another night, and not here, somewhere…else. Out. I’m asking you out,” Dean struggled to get out at Cas ghosted his lips across his collarbone.

     “Dean Winchester, are you asking me on a date?” Cas breathed into the base of his neck, lips whispering against his skin.

     “Yeah, man, I’m tryin,” Dean chuckled. Cas leaned back to look up at him, brushing his hand through Dean's hair and smiling that smile that sent a shockwave of warmth through Dean's entire body.

     "Dean, I can't think of anything I'd like more," he murmured with quiet sincerity, a twinkle in his eye, before pulling him back down to kiss him breathless. 

 


	9. Apple - Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the night, and the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry for such a long absence and such a short update. This chapter is a promise to you all as much as it is a continuation of the story; I'm not abandoning this fic. I don't know how frequently updates will come for the next little while, but they will come. I promise.

Somehow, in the moments between kissing on the couch and kissing against the kitchen counter and kissing against the refrigerator, they managed to get the pie in the oven. The warm scent of cinnamon and apples filled the kitchen, wrapping itself like a blanket around the two men, held tight in each other’s arms. Hickeys dotted Cas’s collarbone and the hollow of Dean’s throat, but as Dean made to pull Cas’s shirt over his head, Cas stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured regretfully, “I just, not yet. I’m sorry, I -”

“Hey hey hey,” Dean quieted him with a gentle kiss, “no apologies, man. I’m all for going slow. I, uh, I really don’t want to screw this up.” At this quiet admission, a flush rose from Dean’s chest to his neck. Just as Cas was about to respond, the timer went off, loud and intrusive in the deliciously tense air. He reached over to turn it off, grabbing the oven mitts and pulling a beautiful, if a bit lopsided, pie from the oven.

“Gorgeous,” Dean whispered, looping his arms around Cas’s waist from behind and pressing a kiss to his neck. He hooked his chin over Cas’s shoulder and nudged the side of his head, “wanna try it?” Cas nodded, a chuckle reverberating through this body as he turned to kiss Dean before moving to get two bowls from the cabinet.

“What’s so funny?” Dean smiled from where he was leaning against the counter. Cas studied him for a second, a smile of his own dancing around his lips.

“I’m just very happy,” he responded, a light blush rising in his cheeks. Dean pulled him into his arms and kissed him, pulling away just enough to whisper against his lips,

“Me too.”

* * *

A few hours later, when half the pie was gone and Cas’s eyes were starting to droop, Dean kissed him goodnight and headed home. A dopey smile on his face the whole ride back, he fell into bed wearing only his boxers and a look of blissful contentment. He slipped into a peaceful sleep easier than he had in years, dreaming of warm hands and blue eyes and a smile that took his breath away.

* * *

Dawn broke crisp and cool, early morning autumn sunshine catching the leaves on the trees, red and orange brilliant against the cloudless cerulean sky. Dean woke warm, inside and out, a smile on his lips despite the hunger gnawing in his stomach, made no better by the smell of pancakes drifting up the stairs. He lept up, grabbing a tshirt from the floor, and bounded down the stairs. As he strode past the mirror hanging in the hall, force of habit made him glance briefly at his reflection, stopping short at the sight of the purple splotches in the hollow of his throat and along his collarbone. He pulled the neck of his shirt aside even more, displaying the marks in all their glory. Dean ghosted gentle fingertips along the bruised skin, smiling to himself as warmth pooled in his stomach at the memory of who had put them there.

He spent a moment readjusting his shirt to make them as inconspicuous as possible, not knowing who he was going to see at the stove, and practically skipped the rest of the way to the source of the pancake aroma.

"Hey, Dad," Dean greeted him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and snagging a pancake from the stack.

"Hey, son," John glanced at him over his shoulder with a tired smile. His eyes flicked briefly down to Dean's throat. He cleared his throat and turned back to the pancakes in the pan, "you have a good night?" Dean felt the blood rush to his cheeks and scrubbed a hand across his neck.

"Uh, yeah, I did actually," he confessed, "I, uh -"

"It Castiel?" John interrupted, eyes not leaving the pan. Dean stood ramrod straight beside him, breath frozen in his lungs. He had told his parents he was bisexual years ago, Mary's kiss to his forehead a tad more relieving than John's gruff acceptance, and he had never anticipated having this talk without his mom to buffer it slightly. He had no idea how John was going to react.

"Um, yeah, it uh - it is," Dean stammered, "but how did you -"

"Please, son," John chuckled, "I know what two people in love look like. Just, uh," he cleared his throat again, "be good to each other. And bring him around for dinner, I gotta meet him proper." At John's words, the tension seeped out of Dean's body. He slumped against the counter and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, dad," he said softly, a smile in his voice, "yeah I totally will. I know he wants to meet you." John smiled and nodded, flipping the last pancakes onto the plate with practiced ease and flicking the stovetop off.

"Alright," he declared, clapping his hands together, "let's eat and get down there before Sam and Cassie manage to burn the place down."


	10. Apple - Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But what will everyone say?

After changing into clothes more suited for work, Dean followed John back to the restaurant, a smile on his face the entirety of the short trip. The parking lot was full when they arrived, all the tables in the dining room full and a few groups waiting patiently by the front. Dean bounded through the back door, greeting Jo and Sam where they stood by the stove on his way to the front. He crept up behind Cassie by the coffee pots and swept her into a bear hug.

“Winchester!” She laughed, “you put me down right this instant!” He obliged, shooting her a cheeky smile as he reached under the counter to grab a clean apron.

“I’m adorable and you know it,” he winked as he tied the apron around his waist, adjusting his clothes. Cassie glanced pointedly at his collar and back at his face, raising her eyebrows in question with a smile on her lips. Dean flushed and clapped his hands together.

“What can I do?” he asked the counter, “who needs something?”

“Cassie’s been takin’ care of us just fine,” Christian drawled from the end of the counter before shoveling a bite of eggs into his mouth. The rest of the regulars sitting at the counter murmured their assent, barely sparing Dean a glance in favor of their food.

Dean waved them off good-naturedly and strode back into the kitchen, Cassie hot on his heels.

“Was it Castiel?” She asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Was what Castiel?” Jo peeked around the shelves, grinning. Heat rushed into Dean’s cheeks even as a smile crept onto his face.

“I knew it!” Jo squealed, pouncing on Dean and hugging him tight, “I knew it I knew it I knew it!”

“Oh, we’re so happy for you, babe,” Cassie smiled, “It’s about time you settled down.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Dean grinned, you two gonna let me get to work now or what?”

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed without incident, other than Sam choking on his coffee when Dean absentmindedly tugged his shirt, displaying his hickeys in all their glory. After regaining his breath, Sam had thumped Dean on the back with a quiet “happy for you, man” before getting back to work.

Mid-afternoon saw the calm between the lunch and dinner rushes, with only Dean manning the front, Ash in the back prepping food for dinner and singing along horribly to whatever was playing on their old radio. At the front door’s chime, Dean looked up from where he was arranging glasses behind the counter to see Cas standing in the doorway.

Dean grinned at him, tension visibly bleeding from Cas’s posture as he tentatively returned the smile.

“Y’know, when I asked you about dinner, I didn’t mean tonight,” Dean teased, “I’m here til way after you should be in bed.”

Cas flushed slightly and stepped a bit closer to the counter.

“Ah, no,” he carded a hand through his already messy hair, “I knew you were working tonight, I just wanted to come by and see you, but if you’re busy -”

“Cas, buddy,” Dean interrupted with a chuckle, “I was teasing. I’m really glad you came.” Cas gave him a shy smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned, unable to keep a smile off his face, “c’mere.”

Cas took a seat at the empty counter, weaving their fingers together where Dean’s hand lay on the tabletop, and Dean leaned into the space between them. He glanced around them and closed the distance to press a gentle kiss to Cas’s lips.

“Oh, before I forget,” Dean pulled back just a touch, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand and flushing slightly, “my, uh, my dad wants to have you over for dinner.”

Cas’s thumb stilled where it had been rubbing gentle circles on the back of Dean’s hand.

“He...knows?” He asked, head cocked to the side.

Dean cleared his throat and glanced at the counter by their joined hands.

“Yeah I mean he kinda guessed what with - “ he gestured to his neck, “and I know we haven’t like ‘defined’ the relationship or whatever but I dunno man this feels like something but I didn’t mean to assume anything um -”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted firmly, squeezing his hand, “Dean. I would love to have dinner with your family.”

“Yeah?” Dean grinned, hesitant but hopeful.

“Yeah,” Cas smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry. I know it's taking me years and years to update this fic, and I know this was a horribly short tease of a chapter. But I do promise it will be done one day!! And one day not a decade from now! There is a plan, I know what's going to happen, I will not abandon this verse. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me.


	11. Apple - Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winchester family dinner!

Dean got everyone’s schedules and they settled on Wednesday evening, with Adam free to help cover at the diner while Ellen and Jo joined the Winchesters and Bobby for dinner, because, according to John, “if he’s gonna meet the family, Dean, he’d better meet the whole family.” Dean didn’t tell anyone that Friday would’ve worked just as well; Wednesday night gave them a built-in end time, since Cas would have school the next morning, just in case things didn’t go as planned.

Dean spent the next three days alternating between blissful happiness when Cas was around and quiet panic when left alone with his thoughts. Though most of them had already met Cas and liked him fine, Dean couldn’t help but run through every possible worst case scenario in his head as the hours until their family dinner ticked down. He knew his family, knew their quirks and idiosyncrasies, and yet he still found himself wondering what would happen if Ellen challenged Cas’s knowledge of early-nineteenth century poets or Bobby grilled him about fixing an oven or John...Dean wasn’t sure what John might do, and that scared him most of all. Had Mary been around, he would’ve known; John would’ve been gruff and quiet, but welcoming, and at the end of the night, after Cas had driven home, he would’ve turned to Dean, said something like, “That one’s gonna keep you on your toes,” before kissing Mary and heading to bed. But now, with Mary gone, Dean had no idea. And it was this uncertainty that scared him the most.

Wednesday arrived so fast Dean wasn’t sure they had actually lived through Monday and Tuesday. Unable to sleep, he got to the diner a few hours before his shift was supposed to start that morning, and ran at full energy for the whole day, cooking and clearing tables and serving in a whirlwind of nervous energy. Before he gave himself the chance to stop and think, four o’clock rolled around, and Jo kicked him out to go shower and change.

He drove home, left knee jumping the entire ride, and sat in the driveway for a few minutes before shutting off the car. Before he could stop himself, he pulled out his phone and called Cas’s number.

“Dean?” Cas’s familiar voice rumbled through the phone line, laced with concern, “are you alright?”

A surge of relief bloomed through Dean’s chest at the sound of his voice. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and huffed a small laugh. He was so gone.

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine, sorry to bug you,” he said, “just wanted to make sure you’re still good for six tonight.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas chuckled, “it’s on both my calendars and you set an alarm on my phone yesterday. I couldn’t forget even if I tried.” Dean’s cheeks warmed at the reminder of how ridiculous he was being.

“No, yeah, I know, I just...” Dean trailed off.

“Dean is everything alright?”

Dean hesitated, unsure of what he should say. Because in reality, yeah, everything was more than alright. His job was great, his family was great, and his...whatever Cas was turning into was great. He was less than two hours away from having just about everyone he loved in one place, and yet.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, sorry, I just freaked out a little,” he said sheepishly, “I’ll see you at six.”

“Would you like to come over at five?” Cas offered, “I’d, um, I’d like help picking out a tie.”

“Dude you don’t have to wear a tie,” Dean chuckled.

“I’m officially meeting your family for the first time, Dean,” Cas deadpanned, “I’m wearing a tie.”

“Okay then,” Dean laughed, “I’ll see you at five.”  
“See you at five.”

Dean hung up feeling lighter than he had felt in days, and with a skip in his step he ran inside to shower and change.

* * *

 

Dressed in his nicest jeans and his favorite worn grey henley, Dean arrived at Cas’s front door a few minutes after five o’clock. The smile on Cas’s face as he opened the door was enough to quell any lingering anxiety Dean was feeling; no matter what, he knew they were going to be okay. He pulled Cas into his arms and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth.

“You smell good,” Cas hummed.

“That’s what happens when I shower,” Dean murmured before kissing him properly, bodies flush together and hands wandering far more than was appropriate for Cas’s front porch at five in the afternoon.

“Dean we’re in public,” Cas mumbled against his lips with a smile.

“Then let’s go inside,” Dean growled in response, nipping at his lower lip before pushing them across the threshold. Cas pulled away just enough to make eye contact.

“You’re worried about something,” he said with concern. Dean sighed and rested his forehead against Cas’s, his hands gliding softly up and down Cas’s back.

“I’m sure everyone’s gonna think you’re great,” he sighed, “I just have no idea how my dad’s gonna be tonight and it’s scaring the shit outta me.” Cas ran his hands over Dean’s shoulders and nudged Dean’s nose with his.

“Your family loves you, Dean,” he said, “and if your father doesn’t like me tonight, I will work hard to earn his approval. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean blushed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cas smiled, “now, come inside and let me get changed. I’ll be ready in five minutes.”  
“Take your time, man, we’ve got until six,” Dean shrugged.

“Well then we’ll just have to find a way to pass the time, won’t we,” Cas smirked, turning to walk into his room, leaving Dean standing in the doorway, mind racing through all the possibilities of the next forty minutes.

* * *

 

Thirty-five minutes later, with several new hickies dotting both of their collarbones, Dean and Cas pulled apart to make the drive back to the Winchester house. Cas smoothed out the new wrinkles in Dean’s shirt while Dean straightened Cas’s tie, and they shared one more lingering kiss before Cas grabbed the bottle of wine from the table and they left the house. Cas followed Dean in his own car, and before they knew it, they were standing on the Winchester’s front porch. At Dean’s shaky inhale, Cas reached down and squeezed his hand in reassurance. Before Dean could turn the doorknob, the door flew open to reveal Jo and Sam standing hand in hand on the other side.

“Hey Cas!” Jo gave him a peck on the cheek and an enthusiastic smile, “it’s so good to see you!”

“And you, Jo,” Cas smiled back, “hello Sam.”

“Hey Cas,” Sam returned warmly, “welcome!” He pulled Jo aside so the two could enter. As Cas passed him, Dean laid a hand on his lower back. He knew Cas wasn’t showing any nerves, but he was pretty sure that was for his sake. Plus, he thought, a little physical contact never hurt anyone.

“In here, you four!” Ellen called from the living room. They paraded down the hall, Sam and Jo leading the way, and as the room opened up in front of them, Dean let his hand fall from Cas’s back.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester,” Cas said, extending his hand to John, who shook it firmly.

“Castiel,” John greeted him, not unkindly.

“Mr. Winchester,” Bobby chuckled, “first names are fine ‘round here, son. We ain’t big on formalities. Name’s Bobby, ‘n this here’s Ellen.”

“Oh Cas and me are old friends,” Ellen smiled, “how’re you doing, hun?” Cas returned her smile.

“I’m doing very well, thanks, how’re you?”

“I can’t complain. What’ve you got there?” She gestured to the bottle dangling from Cas’s left hand.

“Ah,” he blushed, “a friend suggested I bring this, as I wasn’t sure what everyone liked to drink. He assured me it’s a very good bottle.”

“Sam grab some wine glasses!” John called to the kitchen.

“Wine glasses?” Sam yelled back, “Do we even own wine glasses?” Ellen rolled her eyes affectionately.

“I’ll get ‘em, John,” she said, turning to the kitchen, “they’re with the china, you heathen!” John and Bobby chuckled.

“This’s more of a beer house,” Bobby explained, “I don’t know if Sam’s ever seen a wine glass in this house.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Cas looked down at the bottle in his hand, “I wasn’t sure -”  
“No need to apologize,” John reassured him gruffly.

“It’s got alcohol in it, we’ll drink it,” Dean joked, earning him a chuckle from John and Bobby and a grateful smile from Cas. The anxiety that had taken root in his stomach since John had mentioned having Cas over for dinner began to die down, replaced instead by a peaceful sense of comfort.

“Food’s ready!” Ellen called from the kitchen. The four men made their way to the table, where Sam and Jo were setting dishes down.

“Jo and I are there,” Sam said, pointing at two chairs next to each other at the big wooden table, “if you want to move us, move the glasses, we were drinking out of them.”

“N’ah, we’re good,” Dean replied. He moved behind the chair opposite Jo’s, “I’ll sit here. Cas?” He gestured to the chair next to him. Cas smiled at him and went to his side, turning as Ellen carried in a casserole dish to ask her if there was anything he could do to help.

“You boys just sit and talk, there’s just one more thing to carry out, then we can eat,” she smiled at him before calling to the kitchen, “Sam grab that last dish out of the oven, will ya?”

“Everything smells delicious, Ellen,” Bobby praised as he reached for the cover of one of the dishes. Ellen smacked the back of his hand.

“Bobby Singer, what were you raised in a barn?” She scolded, “wait your turn. Cas, would you like some green beans?” Cas nodded and took the offered dish, spooning some onto his plate and passing the dish to Dean. The room was quiet as everyone served themselves, until Sam took the first bite of lasagna.

“Oh my god, Ellen,” he swooned, “this is unbelievable.” The others murmured their assent, mouths too full to do anything else. As Sam opened the bottle of wine and poured everyone a glass, Cas rested his hand on Dean’s knee under the table. Dean smiled at him, and when Cas smiled back, he felt the last wisps of anxiety fade away. Whatever happened next, he knew they’d be fine.

* * *

 

Long after the wine was drunk, a dozen or so beers had followed it, and the dishes were cleared to the kitchen, Dean pushed himself back from the table and rested his hands on his stomach.

“I am stuffed,” he groaned, “Ellen that was amazing.” She grinned at the praise.

“Don’t tell me Dean Winchester is too full for pie!” Jo teased, “I made a special one!” At the word pie, Dean perked up considerably.

“Joanna Beth Harvelle,” he said seriously, staring across the table at her, “you’ve known me my entire life. When have I ever been too full for pie.”

Everyone laughed, except for Sam, who got a wicked glint in his eye and smirked at his big brother.

“Oh, I don’t know, Dean,” he said slowly, “I seem to remember a particular Thanksgiving a few years ago when you were definitely too full for pie.” Dean buried his face in his hands as his family laughed around him.

“Dare I ask?” Cas prompted, amusement clear in his voice.

“I hoped you would,” Sam grinned, “it must’ve been, what, dad, like seven years ago?” John nodded. “Yeah about seven years ago at this point. Everyone was over for Thanksgiving, Cassie and Adam and a bunch of people from the restaurant, too, and everyone brought a dish. We did a lot of cooking here, too-”

“What d’you mean, ‘we’, Sammy?” Dean interrupted indignantly, “I worked my ass off for two days cooking that meal. All you did was sit on your ass and do homework.”

“ANYWAY,” Sam took control of the story again, shooting an amused look at Dean, “we had way too much food. Like, left-overs for over a week, we should’ve invited half the town over, too much food. And my brilliant older brother over here decides that he needs to try everything.”

“There was some weird looking food!” Dean protested.

“What was that stuff Lucas’s family brought?” John interjected.

“Noodle pudding,” Jo answered, “the best damn noodle pudding I have ever tasted.”

“Noodles and cottage cheese and sour cream and eggs and sugar and cinnamon,” John explained to Cas, “it doesn’t sound like it’d be good, but holy lord was it delicious. Mary couldn’t get enough of it, made it for months afterwards.”

“Mom wasn’t the only one,” Dean groaned, rubbing his stomach.

“Basically, our Dean here ate so much he could barely move,” Ellen continued the story, looking at Cas, “and then Jo brought out her pies.”

“Pecan’s my specialty,” Jo winked at Cas, “and Dean loves pecan pie.”

“I only had a little piece!” Dean whined, head in his hands.

“He was so full he popped the button right off his jeans!” Bobby cackled. Everyone laughed, Dean included, and Cas, still laughing, squeezed Dean’s leg. They exchanged smiles, both relieved at how easy it was to be with Dean’s family.

“No button’s are popping today,” Dean grinned, “what kind did you make?” Jo disappeared into the kitchen and returned quickly, pie plate and server in hand.

“Apple and cheddar,” she smiled as she set it down, “now I know that sounds kind of gross,” she said to Cas, “but just trust me.” He nodded.

“I trust you,” he said soberly, “and I’ve learned to never say no to pie in this town.” Jo grinned at him and served him the first piece. He waited until everyone had pie in front of them, and then slid his fork into the tender crust. Unlike the crust he was used to, this crust was speckled with orange. But just like the crust he was used to, it was perfectly flakey and soft. He loaded his fork with crust and filling, fragrant apples and cinnamon filling his nose.

The first bite burst across his tongue like a familiar apple pie. Sweet and slightly tart from the apples, cinnamony but not overly so, it was second only to the apple pie he and Dean had made (though he wasn’t sure if that ranked first because it was actually better or because everything just tasted better licked from Dean’s mouth). But as he chewed, he noticed a slight saltiness he had never experienced in a pie before. The touch of cheese in the crust played delightfully with the sweetness of the apples and cinnamon, giving it depth he never could’ve imagined.

“Jo,” he said, slightly shocked, “this is phenomenal.” She blushed as everyone else echoed the sentiment, and Dean held out his plate for another slice.

“We’re putting this on the menu,” he said around a mouthful of pie.

* * *

 

As forks scraped pie plates clean, the old grandfather clock in the living room chimed ten o’clock.

“Well, looks like it’s time for us old folk to hit the hay,” Bobby grumbled, “nice to meetcha, Cas.”

“And you, Bobby,” Cas returned, standing and holding out his hand for Bobby to shake. Bobby chuckled and shook his hand, patting him on the shoulder before he let go.

“I should probably go as well, Dean,” Cas said regretfully.

“Yeah, Cas, no worries,” Dean gave him a soft smile, “don’t want you to be too tired to teach tomorrow.” The two of them followed Bobby into the hall by the front door, moving closer together as the door closed behind him.

“Will you, um” Cas flushed, “would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow? I can’t promise anything as good as this, but -” Dean beamed at him.

“Absolutely! I’m done in the afternoon, I’ll come over after? Maybe around five?” Cas grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“That sounds perfect.” Though he could hear his family in the next room, Dean leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Cas’s lips. They grinned at each other like teenagers sharing a secret.

“More of that tomorrow,” Dean promised in a low rumble. The flush on Cas’s cheeks and the dark glint in his eyes made him wish they had time tonight, but he knew he had to let Cas go home. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

“Tomorrow,” Cas agreed, pulling Dean in for one more stolen kiss. They pulled away as footsteps came down the hall.

“Oh good you’re still here!” Jo handed Cas a small tupperware box, “it’s another slice of the pie. So Dean doesn’t eat it all,” she teased. Cas smiled at her.

“Thank you, Jo,” he said softly, holding the box like it was a precious gift. She held her arms out for a hug, which he gently gave. When they pulled apart Sam stuck out his hand. Cas shook it and smiled at him as well.

“Thank you for having me,” he said sincerely.

“Anytime,” John said from the doorway. He offered his hand out to Cas and held eye contact, “You be good to my boy and you’re welcome here any time.” Cas nodded.

“Thank you. Really, all of you. I can’t thank you enough.” Ellen snuck into the hall behind John and moved around him.

“Our doors are always open,” she told him, pulling him into a hug. Dean could tell he was a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of physical contact the night had entailed, but he returned the hug with sincerity and smiled at everyone as he left.

“He’s a good one,” John said gruffly as he patted Dean on the shoulder, headed upstairs to bed. Dean smiled.

“Yeah. Yeah he is.”


End file.
